UC-NRLF 


SB    IflE 


BERKELEY 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY    OF 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  LOVERS  ; 


WITH 


POEMS  OF  NATURE  AND  TRADITION. 


BY 


PAUL  H.)HAYNE. 


NEW  YORK: 

E.    J.    HALE   &   SON,   PUBLISHERS, 
MUBBAY    STBEET. 

1875. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875, 

BY  E.  J.  HALE  &  SON, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


KUSSKLL  BROTHERS, 

PRINTERS,  ELECTBOTYPEBS  AND  STEBKOTYPEBS, 
17. 19. 21  and  23  ROBO  Street,  New  York. 


.  TO 

MARGARET    J.PRESTON, 

OF     VIRGINIA. 


Mine  eyes  have  never  gazed  in  thine, 
Our  hands  are  strangers ;    yet  divine 
The  deathless  sympathy  which  binds 
Our  hearts  and  minds! 

Thou  singest  along  the  mountain  side; 
Thy  golden  songs  are  justified 
By  the  rich  music  of  their  flow; 
I  sing  below, 

Where  the  lone  pine-land  airs  are  stirred 
By  notes  of  thrush  and  mocking  bird;— 
The  heights  befit  thy  lo'ftier  strain ; 
Mine  courts  the  plain. 


DEDICATION. 

And  now,  with  joyous  sylvan  things 
All  round  me,  'raid  the  flash  of  wings, 
The  rivulet's  lapse,  the  breeze's  play, 
On  this  bright  day, 

Flushed  like  a  Dryad's  tender  face 
With  early  spring-time's  happiest  grace, 
This  day  of  soft  harmonious  hours, 
Made  sweet  with  flowers, 

My  lowland  Muse  is  blithe  to  send 
Fair  greeting  to  her  mountain  friend, 
And — yearning  more  for  love  than  praise — 
These  wild- wood  lays  I 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Dedication 3 

The  Mountain  of  the  Lovers 7 

The  Vengeance  of  the  Goddess  Diana 34 

The  Voice  in  the  Pines 55 

The  Solitary  Lake 57 

Visit  of  the  Wrens 60 

Aspects  of  the  Pines 65 

Forest  Pictures 66 

Golden  Dell 68 

Cloud  Pictures 71 

Midsummer  in  the  South 74 

In  the  Pine  Barrens 78 

The  Woodland  Phases 80 

Sonnet 82 

Sonnet 83 

After  the  Tornado 84 

By  the  Grave  of  Henry  Timrod 85 

Sonnet 90 

Violets 91 

Whence  ? 93 

Ariel 95 

The  Cloud  Star 97 

Sonnet 99 

Sonnet 100 

Sweetheart,  Good-Bye 101 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Sonnet 103 

Frida  and  her  Poet 104 

In  the  Bower 110 

Sonnet 112 

Lucifer's  Deputy 113 

Preexistence 117 

A  Thousand  Years  from  Now 119 

Sonnet 122 

When  All  has  been  Said  and  Done 123 

On  the  Death  of  Canon  Kingsley 126 

Thunder  at  Midnight , 129 

The  Arctic  Visitation 131 

The  Vision  in  the  Valley 134 

The  Wind  of  Onset 135 

The  Visit  of  Mahmoud  Ben  Suleim  to  Paradise 137 

My  Daughter 147 

Our  "  Humming  Bird  " 150 

Sonnet '. 152 

Sonnet . .  .153 


Tie  MoMMttaiM  of  tie  Lovers. 


[The  most  important  feature  in  the  landscape  of  this  poem  the  old  Chron- 
icler persists  in  designating  as  a  mountain  of  "  steep  "  and  "  terrible" 
ascent ;  but  that  it  could  not  have  been  a  mountain,  and,  despite  certain  ob- 
stacles which  made  it  dangerous  for  men  on  horseback,  it  might  not  even 
have  been  a  very  "  terrible"  hill,  is  shown  by  the  fact,  that  among  the 
crowd  who  reached  the  summit  soon  after  the  catastrophe,  were  "  old  men," 
whom  the  excitement  of  the  time  and  scene  would  hardly  have  sufficed  to 
bear  safely  up  were  the  Chronicler's  expressions  to  be  literally  accepted.  To 
any  man  loaded  as  Oswald  was,  the  ascent  of  a  comparatively  moderate 
height  would  prove  a  fearful  trial ;  but  in  his  case  the  atrocious  cruelty  of 
the  experiment,  and  the  life  and  death  issues  involved,  became  so  closely 
associated  in  the  spectators'  minds  with  the  material  scene  of  the  tragedy, 
that  the  latter  was  not  unnaturally  beheld  through  the  magnifying  medium 
of  pity  and  terror.  Thus  the  hill  was  elevated  into  a  mountain  !  The  old 
Chronicler  celebrates  it  as  such.  We  follow  the  old  Chronicler— to  the 
death!] 

I. 

Love  scorns  degrees !  the  low  he  lifteth  high, 
The  high  he  draweth  down  to  that  fair  plain 
Whereon,  in  his  divine  equality, 
Two  loving  hearts  may  meet,  nor  meet  in  vain  ; 
'Gainst  such  sweet  levelling  Custom  cries  amain, 
But  o'er  its  harshest  utterance  one  bland  sigh, 
Breathed  passion-wise,  doth  mount  victorious  still, 
For  Love,  earth's  lord,  must  have  his  lordly  will. 


8  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

II. 

But  ah  !  this  sovereign  will  oft  works  at  last 
The  deadliest  bane,  as  happed  erewhile  to  her, 
Earl  Godolf  's  daughter,  many  a  century  past  : 
She  loved  her  father's  low  born  Forester, 
About  whose  manful  grace  did  breathe  and  stir 
So  clear  a  radiance  by  soul-  virtues  cast, 
He  moved  untouched  of  social  blight  or  ban  — 
Nature's  serene,  true-hearted  gentleman. 

in. 

Yet  she  alone  of  all  the  household  saw 
That  lofty  soul  beneath  his  serf's  attire  ; 
But  of  the  ruthless  Earl  so  great  her  awe, 
Close,  close  she  kept  her  spirit's  veiled  desire, 
Nor  outward  shone  one  spark  of  hidden  fire. 
Too  well  she  knew  to  what  stern  feudal  law 
She  and  her  hapless  Love  perforce  must  yield, 
If  once  this  tender  secret  were  revealed. 


Yea  !  even  by  Oswald's  self  her  covert  flame 
Undreamed  of  burned  ;  proud  stood  she,  coldly  fair, 
When,  to  report  of  woodcraft  lore,  he  came 
To  the  Earl's  hall,  and  she  was  lingering  there. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  LOVERS. 

"Cold  heart !"  thought  he 5  "who, 'midst  her  liege- 
men, dare 

Play  as  I  played  with  death  a  desperate  game 
For  her  sweet  sake  ?  and  yet,  alas  !  and  yet, 
She  scorns  the  service  and  disowns  the  debt." 

V. 

For  sooth  it  was  that  one  keen  winter's  night, 
While  slowly  journeying  homeward  through  a  wood 
Whose  every  deepest  copse  in  moonshine  bright 
Glimmered  from  hoary  trunk  to  frost-tipped  bud, 
On  sire  and  child  there  burst  a  cry  of  blood, 
Followed  by  hurrying  feet,  and  the  dread  sight 
Of  scores  of  grey-skinned  brutes — a  direful  pack 
Of  wolves  half  starved  that  yelled  along  their  track. 

VI. 

In  vain  his  frantic  team  Earl  Godolf  smote, 
With  blended  prayer  and  curse  5  nigh  doom  were 

they, 

Riders  and  steeds,  for  now  each  ravening  throat 
Yawned  like  a  foul  tomb.    On  the  bounding  sleigh 
The  fierce  horde  gained,  when  from  the  silvery-gray, 
Cold-branched  glades  putrang  a  bugle  note, 
With  next  a  bowstring's  twang,  an  arrowy  whirr, 
As  shaft  on  shaft  the  keen-eyed  Forester 


10  POEMS  OF  PA  UC  H.  HA  TNE. 

VII. 

Launched  on  the  foe,  each  hurtling  shaft  a  fate. 
Then  Oswald,  'twixt  pursuers  and  pursued 
Leapt,  sword  in  hand,  his  eyes  of  fiery  hate 
Fixed  on  the  baffled  horde,  whose  doubtful  mood 
Changed  to  quick  fear,  they  scoured  adown  the  wood, 
Their  long  gaunt  lines,  in  fiend-like,  vanquished  state, 
Fading  with  flash  of  blood-red  orbs  from  far, 
Till  the  last  vanished  like  a  baleful  star ! 

VIII. 

Now,  by  the  mass!  abrupt  and  brief,  I  ween, 
The  rude  Earl's  thanks  for  rescued  limbs  and  life ; 
But  not  so  graceless  proved  the  fair  Catrine, 
As  glancing  backward  to  the  field  of  strife 
She  flashed  a  smile  with  cordial  meaning  rife, 
Which  struck  our  sylvan  hero  (who  did  lean, 
Pale,  on  his  bow,)  as  'twere  the  piercing  gleam 
Of  some  strange,  sudden,  half  bewildering  dream. 

IX. 

Alack !  the  dream  waxed  not,  but  seemed  to  wane, 
As  if  a  cloudless  sun  but  late  arisen, 
Back  journeying,  passed  across  the  ethereal  plain, 
And  the  fresh  dawn  it  brought,  died  out  in  heaven  ; 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  LOVERS.  11 

For  from  that  eve  no  subtlest  signs  were  given — 
As  erst  we  said — that  passion's  blissful  pain 
Touched  the  maid's  heart,  or  that  her  days  were 

caught 
In  those  fine  meshes  woven  by  love  for  thought. 

x. 

In  Britain  dwelt  Earl  Godolf,  nigh  the  bounds 

Of  the  Welsh  marches  ;•  a  wild  rover  he 

In  his  hot  youth ,  inured  to  strife  and  wounds 

Through  many  a  foray  fierce  by  land  and  sea  j 

But,  after  years  of  bright  tranquillity — 

Years  linked  to  love  through  pleasure's  peaceful 

rounds 

So  gently  lapsed,  the  unmailed  warrior's  hand 
Forgot  almost  the  use  of  spear  or  brand. 

XI. 

A  bride  erewhile  won  by  his  dauntless  blade 
In  a  great  sea  fight — where  his  arm  had  slain 
Some  half  score  foemen — wan  and  half  afraid, 
Homeward  he  brought,  whose  every  delicate  vein 
Pulsed  the  rich  blood  and  tropic  warmth  of  Spain ; 
But  when  pure  wifehood  crowned  the  noble  maid, 
Heart-fruits  for  him  his  beauteous  lady  bore, 
Of  whose  strange  sweets  he  had  not  dreamed  before. 


12  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

XII. 

She  strove  his  nature's  ruggedness  to  smooth, 
And  in  his  bosom  dropped  a  fruitful  germ 
Of  those  mild  virtues  given  our  lives  to  soothe, 
And  change  their  gusty  solitude  to  warm 
Beneficent  calm, — divinest  after  storm. 
Within  him  flowered  a  pallid  grace  of  ruth, 
]STor  oft,  as  once,  o'er  bleeding  breasts  he  trod 
Straight  to  his  purpose,  blind  to  Law  and  God. 

XIII. 

And  in  fair  fullness  of  the  ripened  time, 

Still  gentler  grew  his  dark,  war  furrowed  mien  ; 

He  quaffed  the  sunshine  of  a  fairy  clime, 

Love  charmed,  hope  gladdened ;  when,  to  crown  the 

scene 

Of  transient  bliss,  there  smiled  a  new  Catrine — 
The  loveliest  babe  e'er  lulled  by  mother's  rhyme — 
Whose  tiny  fingers  o'er  her  heart  strings  played, 
Making  ineffable  music  where  they  strayed. 

XIY. 

Woe  worth  the  end  !  for,  though  the  infant  thrived, 
Slowly  the  hapless  mother  pined  away  $ 
Love  to  the  last  in  pleading  eyes  survived — 
Those  fond,  fond  eyes  doomed  to  the  churchyard 
clay, 


THE  MO  UNTAIX  OF  THE  L  0  VERS.  13 

Coffined,  and  shut  from  all  blithe  sights  of  day  5 
But  Christ !  in  thee  her  stainless  spirit  lived, 
Whose  memory — a  white  star — should  evermore 
O'er  her  Lord's  paths  have  beamed  to  keep  them 
pure. 

XY. 

Pathless,  some  souls  there  are  by  cruel  loss 
Stung,  as  with  scourge  of  scorpions,  to  despair ; 
These  will  not  seek  the  Christ,  nor  clasp  His  Cross, 
But,  groping  vaguely  through  sulphureous  air, 
Strike  hands  with  Satan,  in  the  murky  glare 
Of  furious  hell,  whose  billows  rage  and  toss 
About  their  tortured  being,  urged  to  curse 
That  mystic  WILL  which  rules  the  universe. 

XVI. 

Yea,  such  the  Earl's ;  no  cooling  dew  did  fall 

To  heal  his  Avound;  'gainst  heaven  and  earth  he 

turned, 

Girt  to  his  sense  with  one  vast  funeral  pall  5 
And  the  sore  heart  within  him  writhed  and  burned 
With  baffled  hope,  and  pain  that  madly  yearned, 
Vainly  and  madly,  for  dear  love's  recall. 
No  light  o'ershone  griefs  ocean  drear  and  black, 
The  while  old  passions  thronged  tumultuous  back. 


14  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  HA  TNE. 

XVII. 

So,  his  last  state  was  worse  than  e'en  his  first; 
Murder  and  Rapine,  pitiless  Greed,  and  Ire 
Raged  wheresoe'er  his  Raven  banner  burst, 
'Mid  shrieks  and  wails,  and  hollow  roar  of  fire, 
Which  lapped  the  household  porch  and  crackling 

byre ; 

He  seemed  demoniac  in  his  aims  accurst, 
Wrath  in  his  soul,  and  on  his  brow  the  sign 
Of  hell — a  human  scourge  by  power  divine 

XVIII. 

For  some  mysterious  end  permitted  still — 
As  many  an  evil  thing  our  God  allows 
To  range  the  world,  and  work  its  dreadful  will, 
Whether  in  form  of  chiefs,  with  laureled  brows, 
Or  spies  and  traitors  in  the  good  man's  house  ; 
Or,  it  may  be,  some  slow,  infectious  111, 
Untraced,  and  rising  like  a  mist  defiled 
With  poisonous  odors  on  a  lonely  wild, 

XIX. 

Albeit  no  marsh  is  near,  or  steamy  fen. 

More  monstrous  year  by  year  Earl  Godolf  s  deeds 

Flared  in  hell's  livery  on  the  eyes  of  men ; 

All  growths  of  transient  goodness  checked  by  weeds, 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  LOVERS.  15 

Sin-bred ;  and,  ah  !  one  angel's  bosom  bleeds 
To  know  she  may  not  meet  her  love  again  ; 
And  even  the  vales  immortal  seemed  less  sweet, 
Because  too  pure  for  his  crime-cumbered  feet. 

xx. 

But,  weal  or  woe,  the  world  rolls  blindly  on, 
While  nature's  charm,  in  child,  and  bird,  and  flower, 
Works  its  rare  marvels  'neath  the  noonday  sun, 
And  the  still  stars  in  midnight's  slumberous  hour. 
And  so  a  human  bad,  through  beam  and  shower, 
Glad  play,  and  easeful  sleep — the  orphaned  one, 
The  beauteous  babe — a  sour  old  beldame's  care, 
Upflowered  at  length  a  matchless  maid,  and  fair. 

XXI, 

Most  fair  to  all  but  him  to  whom  she  owed 
Her  life  and  place  in  this  bewildering  world ; 
For  he,  a  changed  man  since  that  hour  which  showed 
His  wife's  worn  form  in  earthly  cerements  furled, 
Cold  scorn  had  launched,  or  captious  passion  hurled 
At  this  sole  offspring 'of  his  lone  abode, 
Till  grown,  alas !  too  early  grave  and  wise, 
She  viewed  her  sire,  in  turn,  with  loveless  eyes. 


1C  POEMS.  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  7NE. 

XXII. 

Still  in  benignant  arms  did  Nature  fold 

Her  favored  child,  and  on  her  richly  showered 

All  gifts  of  beauty ;  with  long  hair  of  gold 

And  lucid,  languid  eyes  the  maid  she  dowered, 

And  her  enticing  loveliness  empowered 

With  charms  to  melt  the  wintriest  temper's  cold — 

Charms  wrought  of  sunrise  warmth,  and  twilight 

balm, 
Passion's  deep  glow,  and  Pity's  saint-like  calm. 

XXIII. 

Tall,  lithe,  and  yielding  as  a  young  bay  tree 
Her  perfect  form ;  but  'neath  its  lissom  gra^e 
There  lurked  a  latent  strength  keen  eyes  could  see, 
Drawn  from  her  father's  undegenerate  race ; 
The  dazzling  fairness  of  her  Saxon  face, 
Contrasted  with  the  dark  eyes'  witchery, 
Shone  with  such  light  as  Northern  noondays  wake 
Through  the  clear  shadows  of  a  mountain  lake. 

XXIV. 

Her  full  blown  flower  of  beauty  lured  'ere  long 
Unnumbered  suitors  round  her;  these  declare 
Boldest  report  hath  done  the  virgin  wrong, 
And  past  all  power  of  words  they  deem  her  fair ; 


THE  MO  UNTAIN  OF  THE  L  0  VERS.  1 7 

The  kingdom's  princeliest  youth  besiege  her  ear 
And  heart  with  ardent  vows  and  amorous  song ; 
Love,  rank  and  wealth  their  splendid  beams  combine, 
She  the  rare  orb  about  whose  path  they  shine. 

XXV. 

Still  would  she  wed  with  none,  till  rudely  pressed 

To  the  last  boundary  of  her  patience  sweet ; 

No  more  she  struggled  in  a  yearning  breast 

To  hide  her  passion,  howsoever  unmeet 

For  one  high  placed  as  she  ;  her  fervent  feet 

Oft  bore  her  now  where  woodland  flowers  caressed 

The    grand    old    oaks,    beneath    whose    sheltering 

boughs 
The  lovers  mused,  or,  whispering,  breathed  their 

vows. 

XXVI. 

But  ere  to  such  sweet  pass  their  fates  had  led, 

Or  ere  her  thought  unbosomed  utterly, 

To  the  'rapt  youth,  in  tremulous  tones,  she  said, 

"  1  love  iheef  through  full  many  a  fine  degree 

Of  feeling,  touched  by  sad  uncertainty, 

That  truth  they  neared,  which,  like  a  bird  o'erhead, 

Still  faltering  flew,  till  borne  through  shade  and  sun, 

It  nestled  warm  in  two  hearts  made  as  one! 


18  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HAYNE. 

XXVII. 

The  truth,  the  fond  conviction  that  all  earth 

Was  less  than  naught — a  mote,  a  vanishing  gleam, 

Matched  with  the  glow  of  that  transcendant  birth 

Of  love  which  wrapped  them  in  his  happiest  dream 

Entranced  thus,  shut  in  by  beam  on  beam 

Of  glory,  is  it  strange  but  trivial  worth 

Their  dazzled  minds  in  transient  doubts  should  see 

Which  sometimes  crossed  their  keen  felicity  ? 

XXVIII. 

Their  love  awhile,  like  some  smooth  rivulet  borne 
Through  drooping  umbrage  of  a  lonely  dell, 
By  clouds  un visited,  by  storms  untorn, 
Passed,  rippling  music  ;  like  a  magic  bell 
Outrung  by  spirit-hands  invisible, 
Each  tender  hour  of  meeting,  eve  or  morn, 
Above  them  stole  in  rhythmic  sweetness,  blent 
With  rare  fruition  of  supreme  content. 

XXIX. 

But  in  the  sunset  tide  of  one  calm  day, 
When,  all  unconscious,  at  the  place  of  tryst, 
Beyond  their  wont  they  lingered  5  with  dismay 
They  saw,  begirt  by  gold  and  amethyst 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  LOVERS.  19 

Of  that  rich  time,  gigantic  in  the  mist 

Of  shimmering  splendor,  which  did  flash  and  play 

About  his  form,  and  o'er  his  visage  dire, 

The  wrathful  Earl,  midmost  the  sunset  fire. 

xxx. 

j$o  word  he  uttered,  but  his  falchion  drew, 
Red  with  the  slain  boar's  blood,  and  pointed  grim 
Where  'gainst  the  eastern  heavens'  slow-deepening 

blue 

Uprose  his  castle  turrets,  tall  and  dim. 
The  maid's  eyes  close ;  she  feels  each  nerveless  limb 
Sink  nigh  to  swooning ;  but,  heart-brave  and  true, 
Clings  to  her  Love,  while  from  pale  lips  a  sigh 
Doth  faintly  fall,  which  means  "  with  him  I  die  /" 

XXXI. 

Gravely  advancing,  the  Earl's  stalwart  hand 
Rests  on  her  shuddering  shoulder  5  one  quick  glance, 
Haughty  and  high,  rife  with  severe  command, 
On  the  'mazed  Woodsman  doth  he  dart  askance, 
Who  doubtful  bides,  as  one  half  roused  from  trance, 
Striving  to  know  on  what  new  ground  his  stand 
Thenceforth  shall  be  ;  or,  if  life's  priceless  ALL, 
Put  to  the  test  just  then,  must  rise  or  fall. 


20  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HAYNE. 

XXXII. 

Fate- wrought  the  issue!  for  as  Oswald  waits 
Biding  his  time  to  smite,  or  else  retreat, 
With  the  maid's  hand  his  own  Earl  Godolf  mates, 
And  from  the  wood  they  pass  with  footsteps  fleet ; 
One  tearful,  backward  look  vouchsafed  his  sweet, 
Just  as  the  castle  gates — those  iron  gates, 
Heavy  and  stern,  like  Death's — were  closed  between 
His  burning  vision  and  the  lost  Catrine. 

XXXIII. 

To  heaven  he  raises  wild,  despairing  eyes, 
But  heaven  responds  not  ;  then  to  earth  returns 
His  baffled  gaze  from  ranging  the  cold  skies, 
And  earth  but  seems  a  place  for  burial  urns  ; 
In  sooth,  the  Avhole  creation  mutely  spurns 
His  prayer  for  aid  5  alas  !  what  kind  replies 
Can  woeful  man  from  fair,  dumb  Xature  draw 
Locked  in  the  grasp  of  adamantine  Law  ? 

xxxiv. 

Three  morns  thereafter,  in  the  market  place 
Of  the  small  town,  from  Godolf  s  castle  wall 
Distant,  it  might  be,  some  twelve  furlongs'  space, 
Came,  grandly  robed,  our  Lord's  high  seneschal ; 


THE  MO  UNTA  IN  OF  THE  L  0  VERS.  21 

To  all  the  lieges,  with  shrill  trumpet  call. 
In  name  of  his  serene  puissant  grace 
Godolf,  the  Earl ;  to  all  folk,  bond  or  free, 
With  strident  voice  he  read  this  foul  decree: 

xxxv. 

"  Whereas  our  virgin  daughter,  hight  Catrine, 
False  to  her  noble  race  and  lineage  proud, 
Hath  owned  her  love  for  one  of  birth  as  mean 
As  any  hind's  who  creeps  among  the  crowd 
Of  common  serfs,  with  cowering  shoulders  bowed — 
Oswald  by  name — the  whom  ourselves  have  seen, 
When  least  he  deemed  us  nigh,  his  traitorous  part 
Press  with  hot  wooing  on  the  maiden's  heart : 

xxxvi. 

lt  Let  all  men  know  hereby  our  will  it  is, 
To-morrow  morn  their  trial  morn  must  be  5 
Either  the  serf  shall  win,  and  call  her  his, 
Or  both  shall  taste  such  bitter  misery 
As  even  in  dreams  the  boldest  soul  would  flee ; 
If  lips  unlicensed  thus  will  meet  and  kiss, 
Reason  it  seemsv  that  such  unhallowed  flame 
Of  love  should  end  in  agony  and  shame. 


22  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  II A  TNE. 

XXXVII. 

"  Therefore,  the  morrow  morn  shall  view  their  doom 
Accomplished ;  'mid  the  ferns  of  Boltou  Down, 
Where    Bolton    Height    doth  catch    the    purpling 

bloom 

Of  early  sunrise  on  his  treeless  crown. 
We  say  to  all — knight,  burgher,  squire  and  clown — 
Just  as  the  castle's  morning  bell  shall  boom 
O'er  the  far  hills,  and  brown  moor's  blossoming, 
Come,  and  behold  a  yet  undreamed-of  thing. 

XXXVIII. 

uFor  then  and  there  must  Oswald  bear  aloft, 
By  his  sole  strength,  unaided  and  alone, 
The  blameful  maid,  whose  nature,  grown  too  soft, 
Durst  thus  betray  our  honor  and  her  own ; 
Yet,  if  he  gain  the  height,  untamed,  unthrown, 
All  hands  applaud  him,  and  all  plumes  be  doffed ; 
While  for  ourselves,  we  vow  they  both  shall  fare 
Unharmed  beyond  our  realm— we  reck  not  where." 

xxxix. 

So,  as  decreed,  the  next  morn,  calm  and  clear, 
Witnessed,  in  many  a  diverse  mode  conveyed, 
A  mixed  and  mighty  concourse  gathering  near 
The  appointed  height,  some  in  rough  frieze  arrayed, 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  LOVERS.  23 

And  some  in  gold;  there  blushed  the  downcast  maid, 
Urged  to  this  cruel  test,  a  passionate  tear 
Misting  her  view,  as  surged  the  living  sea. 
Behind  her,  his  arms  folded  haughtily, 

XL. 

His  comely  head  thrown  back,  his  eyes  on  fire 
With  hot  contempt,  fixed  on  an  armed  band 
Which,  stationed  near  him  by  the  Earl's  desire, 
His  every  move  o'erlooked,  did  Oswald  stand, 
Striving  his  roused  anger  to  command, 
And  lift  his  clouded  aspirations  higher 
Than  thoughts  revengeful.    Hark !  a  deepening  hum 
On  the  crowd's  verge — the  trial  hour  has  come  ! 

XLI. 

Divided,  then,  betwixt  his  ire  and  scorn, 
Outspake  the  Earl,  in  tones  of  savage  glee  : 
"  Woodsman  !  essay  thy  task,  for  lo  !  the  morn 
Grows  old,  and  I  this  wretched  mummery 
Would  fain  see  ended." 

— With  mien  gravely  free, 

Clad  in  light  garb,  o'erwrought  by  hound  and  horn, 
Oswald  stood  forth,  nor  quelled  by  frail  alarms, 
About  the  maiden  clasped  his  reverent  arms  ; 


24  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  TNE. 

XLII. 

And  she,  like  some  pure  flower  by  May  tide  rain 

Gracefully  laden,  turns  her  eyes  apart 

From  the  great  throng,   and,   pierced   by  modest 

pain, 

Veils  her  sweet  face  upon  her  lover's  heart  ; 
Whereat  the  youth  is  seen  to  thrill  and  start, 
While  o'er  his  own  face,  calm  and  pale  but  now, 
Bush  the  deep  crimson  waves  from  chin  to  brow  5 

XLIII. 

Then  do  they  ebb  away,  and  leave  him  white 
As  the  vexed  foam  on  ocean's  stormy  swell, 
Yet  cool  and  constant  in  his  manful  might 
As  some  staunch  rock  'gainst  which  the  tides  rebel 
In  useless  rage,  with  hollow,  billowy  knell  5 
Meanwhile,  advancing  with  sure  steps  and  light, 
He  moves  in  measured  wise  to  dare  his  fate 
Beneath  those  looks  of  blended  ruth  and  hate. 

XLIY. 

Stirred  by  his  generous  bravery,  and  the  sight 
Of  such  young  lives — their  love,  hope,  joyance  set 
On  the  hard  mastery  of  yon  terrible  height, 
Whose  rugged  slopes  and  sheer  descent  are  wet 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  THE  LOVERS.  25 

And  slippery  with  the  dews  of  dawning  yet, 
Through  the  dense  rout,  which  swayed  now  left,  now 

right, 

Low,  inarticulate  murmurs  faintly  ran, 
And  one  keen,  quivering  shock  from  man  to  man. 

XLV. 

The  watchful  matrons  sob,  the  virgins  weep 
Pull  tears,  but  all  unheeded,  as  with  slow, 
Sure  footfalls  still  he  mounts  the  hostile  steep 
On  to  a  point  where  two  great  columns  show 
Their  rounded  heads,  crowned  by  the  morning  glow. 
His  task  half  done,  a  sigh,  long,  grateful,  deep, 
Breaks  from  his  heaving  heart ;  secure  he  stands, 
A  sunbeam  glimmering  on  his  clasped  hands, 

XLYI. 

And  the  glad  lustre  of  his  wind-swept  locks 
More  radiant  made  thereby ;  his  tall  form  towers 
'Gainst  the  dark  background,  piled  with  rocks  on 

rocks 

Precipitous,  whose  grim,  gaunt  visage  lowers, 
As  if  in  league  they  were — like  Titan  powers 
Victorious  long  o'er  storms  and  earthquake  shocks— 
To  cast  mute  scorn  on  him  whose  doubtful  path 
Leads  near  the  threatening  shadows  of  their  wrath. 


26  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  YNE. 

XL  VII. 

From  the  charmed  crowd  then  rose  an  easeful  breath, 
Lightening  the  dense  air;   but,   'midst  doubt  and 

bale, 

Eaves  the  wild  Earl,  reckless  of  life  or  death, 
If  so  his  tyrannous  purpose  could  prevail ; 
For,  almost  mad,  he  smites  his  gloves  of  mail, 
Goading  with  frenzied  heel  the  steed  beneath 
His  barbarous  rule;  in  reason's  fierce  eclipse, 
A  blood  red  foam  burns  on  his  writhing  lips. 

XLVIII. 

Meanwhile,  brief  space  for  needful  respite  given, 
With  quickened  j)ace,  onward  and  upward  still, 
And  fanned  by  freshening  gales,  as  nearer  heaven 
He  climbs  o'er  granite  passways  of  the  hill, 
Oswald  ascends,  untamed  of  strength  or  will, 
Striving,  as  ne'er  before  had  mortal  striven, 
Boldly  to  win,  and  proudly  wear  as  his, 
The  prize  he  bore  of  that  bright,  breathing  Bliss. 

XLIX. 

Two  thirds,  two  thirds  and  more,  of  that  last  half 
Of  his  fell  journey  had  he  stoutly  won; 
And  now  lie  pauses  the  cool  breeze  to  quaff, 
And  feel  the  royal  heartening  of  the  sun 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  TPIE  LOVERS.  27 

Nerving  his  soul  for  what  must  yet  be  done, 
When  with  a  gentle,  quivering,  flutelike  laugh, 
Holding  a  sob,  the  maiden  rose  and  kissed 
Her  hero's  lips,  sought  through  a  tremulous  mist 

L. 

Of  love  and  pride  !     The  on-lookers,  ranged  afar, 
Saw,  and  more  boldly  blessed  them  5  all  are  moved 
To  trust  that  theirs  may  prove  the  fortunate  star 
Fate  brightly  kindles  for  young  lives  beloved : 
"  His  truth  and  valor  hath  he  nobly  proved ; 
How  brave,  how  constant  both  these  lovers  are ! 
Sooth  !  the  sweet  heavens  seem  with  them."    Thus, 

full  voiced, 
Yet  with  some  lingering  doubts,  the  folk  rejoiced. 

LI. 

Alas  !  for  false  forecasting,  and  surmise  ! 
Though  small  the  space  betwixt  him  and  his  goal, 
Oswald  doth  stagger  now  in  feeblest  wise, 
And  like  some  drunken  carl,  with  heave  and  roll, 
Blindly  he  staggers  in  his  lost  control 
Of  sense:  or  power ;  and  so,  with  anguished  sighs, 
Turned  on  his  love — the  goal  in  easy  reach— 
His  yearning  woe  too  deep  for  mortal  speech. 


28  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

LII. 

Whereon  the  lady's  arms  are  wildly  raised, 
Perchance  in  prayer,  perchance  with  pitying  aim 
His  strain  to  ease,  when  lo  !  (dear  Christ  be  praised  !) 
It  seemed  new  strength,  fresh  courage  o'er  him  came, 
And  through  his  spirit  rushed  a  glorious  flame, 
At  which  the  crowd  stood  moveless,  dumb,  amazed, 
For,  like  a  god,  with  swift,  resistless  tread, 
He  strides  to  clasp  the  near  goal  o'er  his  head. 

LIII. 

A  savage  cliff  of  beetling  brow  it  was, 
Midmost  the  summit  of  the  lowering  height, 
Hooted  amongst  low  shrubs  and  sun  dried  grass, 
And  reared  in  blackness,  like  a  cloud  of  night, 
On  whose  dull  breast  no  beacon  star  is  bright. 
Thitherward,  from  cold  terrors  of  the  pass 
Well  nigh  of  death,  the  hero  speeds  amain, 
Nor  seems  his  matchless  labor  wrought  in  vain. 

LIV. 

Yea  $  for  a  single  rood's  length  oversped, 
And  victory  crowns  him !   God  !  how  still  the  crowd, 
Once  rife  with  voices  !  silent  as  the  dead 
Lodged    in    their    earthly    crypt    and    mouldering 
shroud  5 


THE  MO  UNTAIN  OF  THE  L  0  VERS.  29 

But  suddenly  a  great  cry  mounted  loud 
And  shrill  above  them,  as  in  ruthful  dread, 
They  saw  the  lovers,  linked  in  close  embrace, 
Fall  headlong  down  by  that  wild  try  sting  place. 

LV. 

Then  comes  a  quick  revulsion,  when  the  pain 

Of  fear  and  choking  sympathy  gone  by, 

Hope  reappears — aye,  joy  and  triumph  reign— 

For  though  supine  on  yonder  height  they  lie, 

Still,  brow  to  brow,  turned  from  the  deepening  sky, 

'Tis  but  the  faintness  of  the  mighty  strain — 

Or  so  they  dream — on  o'erworked  nerve  and  will, 

Which  leaves  them  moveless  on  the  conquered  hill. 

LYI. 

Spurring  his  courser,  in  vexed  doubt  and  haste, 
The  Earl    charged  on    the  dangerous  height,    as 

though 

Firm-trenched,  defiant,  7mid  the  rock-strewn  waste, 
Gh'ttered  the  spear  points  of  his  mortal  foe ; 
The  horse's  hoof  struck  fire,  hurling  below 
Huge  stones  and  turf  his  goaded  limbs  displaced, 
Till  checked  midway,  his  reckless  rider  found 
He  needs  must  climb  afoot  the  treacherous  ground. 


30  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

LVII. 

And  next  the  throng  had  caught,  and  past  him  swept, 
Clothed  as  he  was  in  armor  5  a  young  knight 
Headed  the  rout,  whose  feverish  fingers  crept 
Oft  to  his  sword  hilt  j  011  the  topmost  height, 
Pausing  with  veiled  eyes,  his  gaze  he  kept 
Fixed  on  the  prostrate  pair,  o'er  whom  the  light 
Of  broadening  sunrise  now  was  mixed  with  shade, 
And  still  the   knight's  hand  wandered   round  his 

blade. 

LYIII. 

Impatient,  spleenful,  struggling  with  the  tide 
Of  common  folk,  who  seemed  to  heed  no  more 
His  sullen  passion  and  revengeful  pride, 
Than  if  just  then  he  were  the  veriest  boor. 
The  Earl  at  length  with  bent  brows  strode  before 
The  mongrel  horde,  and  unto  Oswald  cried  : 
"  Rise,  traitor,  rise  !  by  some  foul,  juggling  sleight, 
Through  the  fiend's  help,  thou  hast  attained  the 

height : 

LIX. 

Part  them,  I  say  !"    To  whom  in  measured  tone, 
Measured  and  strange,  the  young  knight  answering 
said : 


THE  MO  UNTA  IN  OF  TEE  L  0  VERS.  31 

u  Earl !  well  I  know  tliou  wear's t  for  heart  a  stone, 
Yet  dar'st  thou  part  these  twain  whom  Death  has 

wed, 

No  longer  twain,  but  one  ?    Look !  overhead 
The  burning  sun  mounts  to  his  noonday  throne  ; 
But  o'er  the  sun,  as  o'er  this  fateful  sod, 
Eules  a  great  King,  the  King  whose  name  is  God ! 

LX. 
"  Deem'st  thou  for  this  day's  work  His  wrath  shall 

rest?" 

Whereon,  low  murmuring  like  a  hive  of  bees, 
With  stifled  groans  and  tears,  the  people  pressed 
Bound  the  fair  corpses — women  on  their  knees 
Embraced  them — and  old  men — but  dusky  lees 
Of  feeling  left — did  touch  them,  and  caressed 
The  maid's  soft  hair,  the  woodsman's  noble  face, 
Praying,  under  breath,  that  Christ  would  grant  them 

grace. 


That  mournful  day  had  waned  ;  by  sunset  rose 
A  wailing  wind  from  out  the  dim  northeast ; 
Which,  as  the  shadows  waxed  at  twilight's  close 
O'er  mote  and  wood,  to  a  shrill  storm  increased ; 


32  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

But  in  his  castle  hall,  with  song  and  feast, 
Yaried  full  oft  by  ribald  gibes  and  blows 
Twixt  ruffian  guests  in  rage  or  maudlin  play, 
The  wild  night  raved  its  awful  hours  away. 

With  not  a  pang  at  thought  of  her  whose  form 
In  pallid  beauty  lay  unwatched  and  dead, 
In  a  far  turret  chamber,  where  the  storm, 
Thundering  each  moment  louder  overhead, 
Entered  and  shook  the  close-draped,  sombre  bed, 
The  barbarous  sire  with  wine  and  wassail  warm, 
Lifting  his  cup  'mid  brutal  jest  and  jeer 
Banned  his  pale  daughter,  slumbering  on  her  bier. 

Just  as  those  impious  words  had  taken  flight, 

In  the  red  dusk  beyond  the  torch's  glare, 

Stole  a  vague  Shape  that  'scaped  the  revellers'  sight, 

Slowly  toward  Earl  Godolf,  unaware 

Even  as  the  rest,  what  fateful  foe  drew  near. 

Muffled  the  Shape  was,  masked  and  black  as  night, 

And  now  for  one  dread  instant  with  raised  sword 

Stood  hovering  o'er  the  heedless  banquet  board. 

And  next  with  flashing  motion  fierce  and  fast, 
Vengeance  descended  on  that  glittering  blade  ; 
The  amazed  spectators  started,  dumb,  aghast, 
While  at  their  feet  the  caitiff  lord  was  laid, 


TEE  MO  UN  TAIN  OF  THE  L  0  VERS.  «'  >3 

His  heart's  blood  trickling  o'er  the  purple  braid 
(For  thro' his  heart  the  avenger's  brand  had  passed), 
And  silver  broidery  of  his  gorgeous  vest, 
Drawn  drop  by  drop  from  out  his  smitten  breast. 

The  muffled  Shape  which  as  a  cloud  did  rise 
On  the  wild  orgie,  as  a  cloud  departs ; 
Wan  hands  are  swept  across  bewildered  eyes, 
And  awe  stilled  now  the  throbbing  at  their  hearts, 
When  suddenly  one  death-pale  reveller  starts 
Up  from  the  board  and  in  shrill  accent  cries, 
"  Curst  is  this  roof-tree,  curst  this  meat  and  wine, 
Fly,  comrades ;  fly  with  me  the  wrath  Divine  !" 

In  haste,  in  horror,  and  great  tumult,  fled 

The  affrighted  guests  $  then  on  the  vacant  room 

No  maddening  voice  thenceforth  disquieted, 

Fell  the  stern  presence  of  a  ghastly  gloom. 

A  place  'twas  deemed  of  hopeless,  baleful  doom  ; 

Barred  from  all  mortal  view  in  darkness  dread, 

Only  the  spectral  forms  of  woe  and  sin 

Thro'  the  long  years  cold  harborage  found  therein. 


34  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  HA  YNE, 


Tihe  Vengeance  of  tie  Gdidess  Diana. 


[Sixteen  years  ago,  in  a  volume  of  comparatively  youthful  verses,  the  fol- 
lowing poem  appeared  under  the  title  of  "Avolio  ;  A  Legend  of  the  Island  of 
Cos."  The  original  narrative  has  now  been  carefully  rewritten  and  amended, 
and  upwards  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  lines  of  entirely  new  matter  have  been 
added  thereto.  So  far  as  we  know,  the  only  poet  who  has  celebrated  this 
significant  and  beautiful  tradition,  is  William  Morris,  in  the  first  section  of 
whose  "  Earthly  Paradise  "  there  is  a  story  (called  "  The  Lady  of  the  Land  ") 
founded  upon  some  of  its  more  obvious  and  popular  incidents.  Since  Morris's 
wonderful  tales  were  not  published  until  1368,  we  can,  at  least,  assert  the 
humble  claim  of  precedence  in  the  poetical  treatment  of  this  legend.] 

What  time  the  Norman  ruled  in  Sicily, 

At  that  mild  season  when  the  vernal  sea, 

O'erflitted  by  the  zephyr's  frolic  wing, 

Dances  and  dimples  in  the  smile  of  Spring, 

A  goodly  ship  set  sail  upon  her  way 

From  Ceos  unto  Smyrna ;  through  the  play 

Of  wave  and  sunbeam  touched  with  fragrant  calm, 

She  passed  by  beauteous  island  shores  of  palm, 

Until  so  sweet  the  tender  wooing  breeze, 

So  fraught  the  hours  with  balms  of  slumbrous  ease, 

That  those  who  manned  her,  in  the  genial  air 

And  dalliance  of  the  time,  forgot  the  care 

Due  to  her  courses ;  in  the  bland  sunshine 

They  lay  enchanted,  dreaming  dreams  divine, 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  TEE  GODDESS  DIANA.       35 

While  idly  drifting  on  the  Halcyon  water, 
The  bark  obeed  whatever  currents  cauht  her. 


Borne  onward  thus  for  many  a  cloudless  day, 
They  reach  at  length  a  wide  and  wooded  bay  — 
The  haunt  of  birds  whose  purpling  wings  in  flight 
Make  even  the  blushful  morning  seem  more  bright, 
Flushed  as  with  darting  rainbows;  through  the  tide, 
By  overripe  pomegranate  juices  dyed, 
And  laving  boughs  of  the  wild  fig  and  grape, 
Great  shoals  of  dazzling  fishes  madly  ape 
The  play  of  silver  lightnings  in  the  deep 
Translucent  pools  ;  the  crew  awoke  from  sleep, 
Or  rather  that  strange  trance  that  on  them  pressed 
Gently  as  sleep  ;  yet  still  they  loved  to  rest, 
Fanned  by  voluptuous  gales,  by  Morphean  languors 

blessed. 

The  shore  sloped  upward  into  foliaged  hills, 
Cleft  by  the  channels  of  rock-fretted  rills, 
That  flashed  their  wavelets,  touched  by  iris  lights, 
O'er  many  a  tiny  cataract  down  the  heights. 

Green  vales  there  were  between,  and  pleasant  lawns 
Thick  s6t  with  bloom,  like  sheen  of  tropic  dawns, 
Brightening  the  Orient  ;  further  still  the  glades 


36  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HAYNE. 

Of  whisperous  forests,  flecked  with  golden  shades, 
Stretched  glimmering  southward ;  on  the  wood's  far 

rim, 

Faintly  discerned  thro'  veiling  vapors,  dim 
As  mists  of  Indian  Summer,  the  broad  view 
Was  clasped  by  mountains  flickering  in  the  blue 
And  hazy  distance  $  over  all  there  hung 
The  morn's  eternal  beauty,  calm  and  young. 
Amid  the  throng,  each  with  a  marvelling  face 
Turned  on  that  island  Eden  and  its  grace. 
Was  one — AVOLIO — a  brave  youth  of  Florence, 
Self-exiled  from  his  country,  in  abhorrence 
Of  the  base,  blood-stained  tyrants  dominant  there. 

A  gentleman  he  was,  of  gracious  air, 
And  liberal  as  the  summer,  skilled  in  lore 
Of  arms,  and  chivalry,  and  many  more 
Deep  sciences  which  others  left  unlearned. 
He  loved  ad  venture  j  how  his  spirit  burned 
Within  him,  when,  as  now,  a  chance  arose 
To  search  untraveled  forests,  and  strange  foes 
Vanquish  by  puissance  of  knightly  blows, 
Or  rescue  maidens  from  malignant  spells, 
Enforced  by  hordes  of  wizard  sentinels. 
So  in  the  ardor  of  his  martial  glee, 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       3< 

He  clapped  his  hands  and  shouted  suddenly : 
"  Ho !  sirs,  a  challenge  !  let  us  pierce  these  woods 
Down  to  the  core  ;  explore  their  solitudes, 
And  make  the  flowery  empire  all  our  own  ; 
Who  knows  but  we  may  conquer  us  a  throne? 
At  least,  bold  feats  await  us,  grand  emprize 
To  win  us  favor  in  our  ladies7  eyes  ; 
By  Heaven  !  he  is  a  coward  who  delays." 

So  saying,  all  his  countenance  ablaze 

With  passionate  zeal,  the  youth  sprang  lightly  up, 

And  with  right  lusty  motion,  filled  a  cup — 

They  brought  him  straightway — to  the  glistening 

brim 

With  Cyprus  wine :  "  Now  glory  unto  him, 
The  ardent  knight,  no  mortal  danger  daunts, 
Whose  constant  soul  a  fiery  impulse  haunts, 
Which  spurs  him  onward,  onward,  to  the  end  ; 
Pledge  we  the  brave !  and  may  St.  Ermo  send 
Success  to  crown  our  valiantest !" 

— this  said, 

AVOLIO  shoreward  leaped,  and  with  him  led 
The  whole  ship's  company. 

— A  motley  band 
Were  they  who  mustered  round  him  011  the  strand, 


38  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  I1AYNE. 

Mixed  knights  and  traders ;  the  first  fired  for  toil 
Which  promised  glory  $  the  last  keen  for  spoil ! 
Thro'  breezy  paths  and  beds  of  blossoming  thyme 
Kept  fresh  by  secret  springs,  the  showery  chime 
Of  whose  clear  foiling  waters  in  the  dells 
Played  like  an  airy  peal  of  elfin  bells — 
With  eager  minds,  but  aimless,  idle  feet, 
(The  scene  about  them  was  so  lone  and  sweet 
It  spelled  their  steps,)  'raid  labyrinths  of  flowers, 
By  mossy  streams  and  in  deep  shadowed  bowers, 
They  strayed  from  charm  to  charm  thro'  lengths  of 

languid  hours. 

In  thickets  of  wild  fern  and  rustling  broom. 
The  humble  bee  buzzed  past  them  with  a  boom 
Of  insect  thunder ;  and  in  glens  afar 
The  golden  firefly — a  small  animate  star — 
Shone  from  the  twilight  of  the  darkling  leaves. 
High  noon  it  was,  but  dusk  like  mellow  eve's 
Reigned  in  the  wood's  deep  places,  whence  it  seemed 
That  flashing  locks  and  quick  arch  glances  gleamed 
From  eyes  scarce  human.    Thus  the  fancy  deemed 
Of  those  most  given  to  marvels  ;  the  rest  laughed 
A  merry,  jeering  laugh ;  and  many  a  shaft 
Launched  from  the  Norman  cross  bow,  pierced  the 

nooks, 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       39 

Or  cleft  the  shallow  channels  of  the  brooks, 
Whence,  as  the  credulous  swore,  an  Oread  shy, 
Or  a  glad  Nymph,  had  peeped  out  cunningly. 

Thus  wandering,  they  reached  a  sombre  mound 
Eising  abruptly  from  the  level  ground, 
And  planted  thick  with  dim  funereal  trees, 
Whose  foliage  waved  and  murmured,  tho'  the  breeze 
Had  sunk  to  midnight  quiet,  and  the  sky 
Just  o'er  the  place  seemed  locked  in  apathy, 
Like  a  fair  face  wan  with  the  sudden  stroke 
Of  death,  or  heart-break.    Not  a  word  they  spoke, 
But  paused  with  wide,  bewildered,  gleaming  eyes, 
Standing  at  gaze ;  what  spectral  terrors  rise 
And  coil  about  their  hearts  with  serpent  fold, 
And  oh  !  AY  hat  loathly  scene  is  this  they  hold, 
Grasped  with  unwinking  vision,  as  they  creep,- 
Urged  by  their  very  horror,  up  the  steep, 
And  the  whole  preternatural  landscape  dawns 
Freezingly  on  them ;  a  broad  stretch  of  lawns, 
Sown  with  rank  poisonous  grasses,  where  the  dew 
Of  hovering  exhalations  flickered  blue 
And  wavering  on  the  dead -still  atmosphere- 
Dead-still  it  was,  and  yet  the  grasses  sere 
Stirred  as  with  horrid   life  amidst  the  sickening 
glare. 


40  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  YNE. 

The  affrighted  crew,  all  save  AVOLIO,  fled 
In  wild  disorder  from  this  place  of  dread ; 
In  him,  albeit  his  terror  whispered  "fly !" 
The  spell  of  some  uncouth  necessity 
Baffled  retreat,  and  ruthless,  scourged  him  on  5 
Meanwhile,  the  sun  thro7  darkening  vapors  shone, 
Mgh  to  his  setting,  and  a  sudden  blast — 
Sudden  and  chill — woke  shrilly  up,  and  passed 
With  ghostly  din  and  tumult  5  airy  sounds 
Of  sylvan  horns,  and  sweep  of  circling  hounds 
Nearing  the  quarry.    Now  the  wizard  chase 
Swept  faintly,  faintly  up  the  fields  of  space, 
And  now  with  backward  rushing  whirl  roared  by 
Louder  and  fiercer,  till  a  maddening  cry — 
A  bitter  shriek  of  human  agony- 
Leaped  up,  and  died  amid  the  stifling  yell 
Of  brutes  athirst  for  blood ;  a  crowning  swell 
Of  savage  triumph  followed,  mixed  with  wails 
Sad  as  the  dying  songs  of  nightingales, 
Murmuring  the  name  ACTION  ! 

Even  as  one, 

A  wrapt  sleep-walker,  through  the  shadows  dun 
Of  half  oblivious  sense,  with  soulless  gaze, 
Goes  idly  journeying  through  uncertain  ways, 
Thus  did  AVOLIO,  oore  perplexed  in  mind 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       41 

(Excess  of  mystery  made  his  spirit  blind), 

Grope  through  the  gloom.    Anon  he  reached  a  fount 

Whose  watery  columns  had  long  ceased  to  mount 

Above  its  prostrate  Tritons.    Near  at  hand, 

Dammed  up  in  part  by  heaps  of  tawny  sand, 

All  dull  and  lustreless,  a  streamlet  wound 

Of  trickling  banks,  with  dark,  dank  foliage  crowned, 

That  gloomed  'twixt  sullen  tides  and  lowering  sky ; 

The  melancholy  waters  seemed  to  sigh 

In  wailful  murmurs  of  articulate  woe, 

Till  at  the  last  arose  this  strange  dirge  from  below  : 

SONGr  OF   THE   IMPRISONED   NAIAD. 

"  Woe  !  woe  is  me  !  the  centuries  pass  away, 

The  mortal  seasons  run  their  ceaseless  rounds, 
While  here  I  wither  for  the  sunbright  clay, 
Its  genial  sights  and  sounds. 

Woe  !  woe  is  me  ! 

"  One  summer  night,  in  ages  long  agone, 
I  saw  my  Oread  lover  leave  the  brake  ; 

I  heard  him  plaining  on  the  peaceful  lawn 
A  plaint t  for  my  sweet  sake.' 

Woe  !  woe  is  me  ! 


42  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  JT.  HA  7NE. 

"  My  heart  upsprang  to  answer  that  fond  lay, 
But  suddenly  the  star  girt  planets  paled, 

And  high  into  the  welkin's  glimmering  gray 
Majestic  DIAN  sailed ! 

Woe  !  woe  is  me  ! 

"  She  swept  aloft,  bold  almost  as  the  sun, 
And  wrathful  red  as  fiery -crested  Mars  ; 

Ah  !  then  I  knew  some  fearful  deed  was  done 
On  earth,  or  in  the  stars. 

Woe  !  woe  is  me  ! 

"  With  ghastly  face  upraised,  and  shuddering  throat, 
I  watched  the  omen  with  a  prescient  pain  $ 

When,  lightning-barbed,  a  beamy  arrow  smote, 
Or  seemed  to  smite,  my  brain. 

Woe  I  woe  is  me  ! 

"  Oblivion  clasped  me,  till  I  woke  forlorn, 
Fettered  and  sorrowing  on  this  lonely  bed, 

Shut  from  the  mirthful  kisses  of  the  morn — 
Earth's  glories  overhead. 

Woe  !  woe  is  me  ! 

"  The  south  wind  stirs  the  sedges  into  song, 
The  blossoming  myrtles  scent  the  enamored  air; 


THE  VEXGEAXCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DLAXA.       43 

But  still,  sore  moaning  for  another's  wrong, 
I  pine  in.  sadness  here. 

Woe  !  woe  is  ine ! 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  the  weary  centuries  flee, 
The  waning  seasons  perish,  dark  or  bright; 

My  grief  alone,  like  some  charmed  poison-tree, 
Knows  not  an  autumn  blight. 

Woe !  woe  is  me  !" 

The  mournful  sounds  swooned  off,  but  Echo  rose, 

And  bore  them  up  divinely  to  a  close 

Of  rare  mysterious  sweetness ;  nevermore 

Shall  mortal  winds  to  listening  wood  and  shore 

Waft    such    heart-melting    music.     "  Where,   oli ! 

where," 

AVOLIO  murmured — "  to  what  haunted  sphere- 
Has  Fate  at  length  my  errant  footsteps  brought  f ' 

Launched  on  a  baffling  sea  of  mystic  thought, 
His  reason  in  a  whirling  chaos,  lost 
Compass  and  chart  and  headway,  vaguely  tossed 
'Mid  shifting  shapes  of  winged  phantasies. 

Just  then,  uplifting  his  bewildered  eyes, 
He  saw,  half  hid  in  shade,  on  either  hand, 


44  POEMS  OF  PAUL  If.  IIAYNE. 

Twin  pillars  of  a  massive  gateway  grand 
With  gold  and  carvings  ;  close  behind  it  stood 
A  sombre  mansion  in  a  beech  tree  wood. 

Long  wreaths  of  ghostly  ivy  on  its  walls 
Quivered  like  goblin  tapestry,  or  palls, 
Tattered  and  rusty,  mildewed  in  the  chill 
Of  dreadful  vaults ;  across  each  window  sill 
Curtains  of  weird  device  and  fiery  hue 
Hung  moveless — only  when  the  sun  glanced  through 
The  gathering  gloom  the  hieroglyphs  took  form 
And  life  and  action,  and  the  whole  grew  warm 
With  meanings  baffling  to  AVOLIO'S  sense ; 
He  stood  expectant,  trembling,  with  intense 
Dread  in  his  eyes,  and  yet  a  struggling  faith, 
Vital  at  heart.     A  sudden  passing  breath — 
Was  it  the  wind  ? — thrilled  by  his  tingling  ear, 
Waving  the  curtains  inward,  and  his  fear 
Uprose  victorious,  for  a  serpent  shape — 
Tall,  supple,  writhing,  with  malignant  gape, 
Wliich  showed  its  cruel  fangs— hissed  in  the  gleam 
Its  own  fell  eyeballs  kindled  !     Oh !  supreme 
The  horror  of  that  vision  !    As  he  gazed, 
Irresolute,  all  wordless,  and  amazed, 
The  monster  disappeared — a  moment  sped  ! 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       45 

The  next  it  fawned  before  him  on  a  bed 
Of  scarlet  poppies.     u  Speak  !"  AVOLIO  said  ; 
"  What  art  thou  ?    Speak !  I  charge  thee  in  God's 
name !" 

A  death  cold  shudder  seized  the  serpent's  frame, 
Its  huge  throat  writhed,  whence  bubbling  with  a 

throe 

Of  hideous  import,  a  voice  thin  and  low 
Broke  like  a  muddied  rill :  "  Bethink  thee  well, 
"  This  isle  is  Cos,  of  which  old  legends  tell 
"  Such  marvels.    Hast  thou  never  heard  of  me, 
"  The  island's  fated  queen  f     "  Yea,  verily," 
AVOLIO  cried,  "thou  art  that  thing  of  dread- 
Sharply  the  serpent  raised  its  glittering  head 
And  front  tempestuous  :    "  Hold  !    no  tongue  save 

mine 

"  Must  of  these  miseries  tell  thee !     Then  incline 
u  Thine  ear  to  the  dark  story  of  my  grief, 
"  And  with  thine  ear  yield,  yield  me  thy  belief. 
"  Foul  as  I  am,  there  was  a  time,  O  youth, 
"  When  these  fierce  eyes  were  founts  of  love  and 

truth  5 

u  There  was  a  time  when  woman's  blooming  grace 
"  Glowed  through  the  flush  of  roses  in  my  face; 


46  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  IIA  YNE. 

u  When — but  I  sinned  a  deep  and  damning  sin, 

"  The  fruit  of  lustful  pride  nurtured  within 

"  By  weird,  forbidden  knowledge — I  defied 

"  The  night's  immaculate  goddess,  purest  eyed, 

"  And  holiest  of  immortals ;  I  denied 

':  The  eternal  Power  that  looks  so  cold  and  calm  ; 

"  Therefore,  O  stranger,  am  I  what  I  am, 

"  A  monster  meet  for  Tartarus,  a  thing 

"  Whereon  men  gaze  with  awe  and  shuddering, 

"And  stress  of  inward  terror  5  through  all  time, 

"  Down  to  the  last  age,  my  abhorred  crime 

"  Must  hold  me  prisoner  in  this  vile  abode, 

"  Unless  some  man,  large-hearted  as  a  God, 

"  Solder  than  Ajax,  mercifully  deign 

"  To  kiss  me  on  the  mouth  /" 

She  towered  amain, 

With  sparkling  crest,  and  universal  thrill 
Of  frenzied  eagerness,  that  seemed  to  fill 
Her  cavernous  eyes  with  jets  of  lurid  fire, 
Pulsed  from  the  burning  core  of  unappeased  desire. 

Back  stepped  AVOLIO  with  a  loathing  fear, 
Sick  to  the  inmost  soul ;  then  did  he  hear 
The  awful  creature  vent  a  tortured  groan, 
Her  frantic  neck  and  dragon's  forehead  thrown 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       47 

Madly  to  earth,  whereon  awhile  she  lay, 

Her  glances  veiled,  her  dark  crest  turned  away. 

As  thus  she  grovelled,  quivering  on  the  ground, 
Stole  through  the  brooding  silence  a  faint  sound 
As  'twere  of  hopeless  grief — it  seemed  to  be 
A  human  voice  weeping  how  piteously ! 
Yet  its  deep  passion  striving  to  subdue. 
Just  then  the  serpent  writhed  her  folds  anew, 
And  while  from  earth  her  horrent  crest  she  rears, 
The  loathly  creature's  face  is  bathed  in  tears  ! 

"  Lady  ln  the  knight  said,  "  if  in  sooth  thou  art 

"  A  maid  and  human,  wherefore  thus  depart 

"  From  truth's  plain  path  to  blind  me  ?  well  I  know 

"  This  DIAN,  famed  and  worshipped  long  ago 

"  By  heathen  folk,  was  as  the  idle  fume 

"  Formed  into  shifting  shapes  of  vaporous  bloom 

"  O'er  her  vain  altars.    Ah  !"  (he  shuddered  now, 

Growing  death  pale  from  tremulous  chin  to  brow) 

"  Ah,  God !  I  cannot  kiss  tliee  !    Ne'ertheless, 

"  Fain  am  I  in  the  true  God's  name  to  bless, 

"  And  even  to  mark  thee  with  His  sacred  cross  !" 

As  one  weighed  down  by  anguish  and  the  loss 
Of  one  last  hope,  in  faltering  tones  and  sad 


48  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  TNE. 

The  serpent  spake  :  "  Deem'st  tbou  that  DIAN  had 

"  No  life  but  that  wherewith  her  votaries  vain 

"  Invested  a  vague  image  of  the  brain  ? 

"  Nay,  she  both  was  and  was  not,  as  on  earth, 

"  Even  to  this  day,  full  many  a  thing  from  birth 

a  To  death  lapses  alike  through  bane  and  bliss ; 

"  Full  many  a  thing,  which  is  not  and  yet  is, 

"  Save  to  man's  purblind  vision ; — in  the  end 

"  Some  clearer  spirits  may  rise  to  comprehend 

"  This  strange  enigma  !  but  meanwhile,  meanwhile 

"  The  sure  heavens  change  not,  star  and  sunbeam 

smile 

"  Fair  as  of  yore;  eternal  nature  keeps 
"  Her    strength    and    beauty,   though    the   mortal 

weeps 

"  In  desolation !    Oh  !  wert  tliou  but  true 
"  And  brave  enow  this  thing  I  ask  to  do, 
"  Then  human,  happy,  beauteous  would  I  be, 
"  Ye  merciful  Gods  !  once  more  !'7 

Then  suddenly 
She  writhed  her  vast  neck  round,  her  glittering 

crest 

Cast  backward  o'er  the  fierce,  tumultuous  breast, 
Eed  as  a  stormy  sunset — with  a  moan, 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       49 

"  Pass  on,  weak  soul  P  she  said,  "  leave  me  alone  f 

Then,  wildly,  "  Go !  I  would  not  catch  thine  eye  ; 

"  Go,  and  be  safe  !  for  swiftly,  furiously, 

"  Surges  a  cruel  thought  through  all  my  blood, 

"  And  the  brute  instincts  turn  to  hardihood 

"  Of  vengeful  impulse  all  my  gentler  frame ; 

"  Go !  for  I  would  not  harm  thee  ;  yet  a  flame 

"  Of  blasting  torments  have  I  power  to  raise 

"  Through  all  thy  being,  and  mine  eyes  could  gaze, 

"  Gloating  on  pain.     Is  this  not  horrible  P 

And  therewithal  the  wretched  monster  fell 

To  open  weeping,  with  sad  front,  and  bowed. 

Something  in  such  base  cruelty  avowed, 
Blent  with  the  softer  will  which  disallowed 
Its  exercise,  so  on  AVOLIO  wrought, 
That  sore  perplexed,  revolving  many  a  thought, 
He  lingered  still,  lost  in  a  spiritual' mist ; 
But  when  the  mouth  that  waited  to  be  kissed, 
Fringed  with  a  yellow  foam,  malignly  rose 
Before  him,  his  first  fear  its  terrible  throes 
Eenewed.     "  And  how,  O  baleful  shape  !"  said  lie- 
Striving  to  speak  in  passionless  tones,  and  free — 
"  How  can  I  tell,  what  certain  gage  have  I, 
"  That  this  strange  kiss  thine  awful  destiny 


50  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  HA  YNE. 

u  Hath  not  ordained — the  least  elaborate  plan 

u  Whereby  to    snare    and    slay  me  *P     u  O    man ! 

man !" 

The  serpent  answered,  with  a  loftier  mien— 
A  voice  grown  clear,  majestic  and  serene — 
"  Shall  MATTER  always  triumph  ?  the  base  mould 
"  Mask  the  immortal  essence,  uncontrolled 
"  Save  by  your  grovelling  fancies  mean  and  cold  ? 
"  O  green  and  happy  woods,  breathing  like  sleep ! 
"  O  quiet  habitants  of  places  deep 
"  In  leafy  shades,  that  draw  your  peaceful  breaths, 
"  Passing  fair  lives  to  rest  in  tranquil  deaths  ! 
"  O  earth !  O  sea  !  O  heavens  !  forever  dumb  • 
"  To  man,  while  ages  go  and  ages  come 
"  Mysterious,  have  the  dark  Fates  willed  it  so 
"  That  nevermore  the  sons  of  men  shall  know 
"  The  secret  of  your  silence  ?  the  wide  scope 
"  Granted  your  basking  pleasures,  and  sweet  hope, 
"  Revived  in  vernal  warmth  and  springtide  rains, 
"  Your    long,    long    pleasures,    and    your    fleeting 

pains  ? 

"  And  must  tbe  lack  of  Avhat  is  brave  and  true, 
"  From  other  souls,  callous  or  blind  thereto, 
a  From  what  themselves  beauteous  and  truthful  are, 
"  Differ  for  aye  as  glow-worms  from  a  star  ? 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       51 

"  Is  such  our  life's  decretal  ?    Shall  the  faith 

"  Which  even,  perchance,  the  clearest  spirit  hath 

"  In  good  within  us,  always  prove  less  bold 

u  Than  keen  suspicions,  nursed  by  craven  doubt, 

"  Of  treacherous  ills,  and  evil  from  without  ?" 

Then,  after  pause,  with  passion  :  a  O  etern 

u  And  bland  Benignities,  that  breathe  and  burn 

"  Throughout  creation,  are  we  but  the  motes 

"  In  some  vague  dream  that  idly  sways  and  floats 

"  To  nothingness  I  or  are  your  glories  pent 

"  Within  ourselves,  to  rise  omnipotent 

"  In  bloom,  and  music,  when  Ave  bend  above, 

"  And  wake  them  by  the  kisses  of  our  love  ? 

"  I  yearn  to  be  made  beautiful.     Alas  ! 

"  Beauty  itself  looks  on,  prepared  to  pass, 

"  In  hardened  disbelief!  one  action  kind 

"  Would  free  and  save  me — why  art  thoti  so  blind, 

"  AVOLIO  H" 

While  she  spoke,  a  timorous  hare, 
Scared  by  a  threatening  falcon  from  its  lair, 
Kushed  to  the  serpent's  side.    With  fondling  tongue 
She  soothed  it  as  a  mother  soothes  her  young. 

AVOLIO  mused  :  "  Can  innocent  things  like  this 
"  Take  refuge  by  her  ?  then,  perchance,  some  good, 


52  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HAYNE. 

"  Some  tenderness,  if  rightly  understood, 
"  Lurks  in  her  nature.  I  ivill  do  the  deed  I 
"  Christ  and  the  Virgin  save  me  at  my  need." 

He  signed  the  monster  nearer,  closed  his  eyes, 

And  with  some  natural  shuddering,  some  deep  sighs, 

Gave  up  his  pallid  lips  to  the  foul  kiss  ! 

What  followed  then  ?  a  traitorous  serpent  hiss, 

Sharper  for  triumph  ?    Ah  !  not  so — he  felt 

A  warm,  rich,  yearning  mouth  approach  and  melt 

In  languid,  loving  sweetness  on  his  own, 

And  two  fond  arms  caressingly  were  thrown 

About  his  neck,  and  on  his  bosom  pressed 

Twin  lilies  of  a  snow  white  virgin  breast. 

He  raised  his  eyes,  released  from  brief  despair ; 
They  rested  on  a  maiden  tall  and  fair — 
Fair  as  the  tropic  morn,  when  morn  is  new— 
And  her  sweet    glances   smote  him  through    and 

through 

With  such  keen  thrilling  rapture  that  he  swore 
His  willing  heart  should  evermore  adore 
Her  loveliness,  and  woo  her  till  he  died. 

"  I  am  thine  own,"  she  whispered,  "  thy  true  bride, 
"  If  thou  wilt  take  me  !" 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.       53 

Hand  iii  liand  they  strayed 

Adown  the  shadows  through  the  woodland  glade, 
Whence  every  evil  Influence  shrank  afraid, 
And  round  them  poured  the  golden  eventide. 
Swiftly  the  tidings  of  this  strange  event 
Abroad  on  all  the  garrulous  winds  were  sent, 
Rousing  an  eager  world  to  wonderment ! 

Xow,  'raid  the  knightly  companies  that  came 
To  visit  Cos,  was  that  brave  chief,  by  fame 
Exalted  for  bold  deeds  and  faith  divine, 
So  nobly  shown  ere  while  in  Palestine — 
Tancred,  Salerno's  Prince — he  came  in  state, 
With  fourscore  gorgeous  barges,  small  and  great, 
With  pomp  and  music,  like  an  ocean  Fate ; 
His  blazoned  prows  along  the  glimmering  sea 
Spread  like  an  Eastern  sunrise  gloriously. 

Him  and  his  followers  did  AVOLIO  feast 
Eight  royally,  but  when  the  mirth  increased, 
And  joyous-winged  jests  began  to  pass 
Above  the  sparkling  cups  of  Hippocras, 
Tancred  arose,  and  in  his  courtly  phrase 
Invoked  delight  and  length  of  prosperous  days 
To  crown  that  magic  union  j  one  vague  doubt 


54  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

The  Prince  did  move,  and  this  he  dared  speak  out, 
But  with  serene  and  tempered  courtesy  : 
"  It  could  not  be  that  their  sweet  hostess  still 
"  Worshipped  Diana  and  her  heathen  will  P 

"  Ah  sir !  not  so !"  AVOLIO  flushing  cried, 
"  But  Christ  the  Lord  !" 

No  single  word  replied 
The  beauteous  lady,  but  with  gentle  pride 
And  a  quick  motion  to  AVOLIO'S  side 
She  drew  more  closely  by  a  little  space, 
Gazing  with  modest  passion  in  his  face, 
As  one  who  yearned  to  whisper  tenderly  : 
lt  0,  brave,  Mnd  heart!  I  worship  only  thee  /" 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  PINES.          55 


flu©  Yoice  In  tie  Pines. 


The  morn  is  softly  beautiful  and  still, 

Its  light  fair  clouds  iu  pencilled  gold  and  gray 
Pause  motionless  above  the  pine-grown  hill, 
Where  the  pines,  tranced  as  by  a  wizard's  will, 
Uprise,  as  mute  and  motionless  as  they ! 

Yea  !  mute  and  moveless  ;  not  one  flickering  spray 
Flashed  into  sunlight,  nor  a  gaunt  bough  stirred  ; 
Yet,  if  wooed  hence  beneath  those  pines  to  stray, 
We  catch  a  faint,  thin  murmur  far  away, 
A  bodiless  voice,  by  grosser  ears  unheard. 

What  voice  is  this  ?  what  low  and  solemn  tone, 
Which,  though  all  wings  of  all  the  winds  seem 

furled, 

Nor  even  the  zephyr's  fairy  flute  is  blown, 
Makes  thus  forever  its  mysterious  moan 
From  out  the  whispering  pine- tops'  shadowy  world? 

Ah  !  can  it  be  the  antique  tales  are  true  ? 

Doth  some  lone  Dryad  haunt  the  breezeless  air,  , 
Fronting  yon  bright  immitigable  blue, 


56  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNK 

And  wildly  breathing  all  her  wild  soul  through 
That  strange,  unearthly  music  of  despair  ? 

Or  can  it  be  that  ages  since,  storm-tossed, 

And  driven  far  inland  from  the  roaring  lea, 
Some  baffled  ocean-spirit,  worn  and  lost, 
Here,   through   dry  summer's  dearth  and  winter's 

frost, 
Yearns  for  the  sharp,  sweet  kisses  of  the  sea  ? 

Whatever  the  spell,  I  hearken  and  am  dumb, 

Dream-touched,  and  musing  in  the  tranquil  morn  ; 
All  woodland  sounds — the  pheasant's  gusty  drum, 
The  mock  bird's  fugue,  the  droning  insect's  hum — 
Scarce  heard  for  that  strange,  sorrowful  voice  for- 
lorn ! 

Beneath  the  drowsed  sense,  from  deep  to  deep 

Of  spiritual  life  its  mournful  minor  flows, 
Streamlike,  with  pensive  tide,  whose  currents  keep 
Low  murmuring  'twixt  the  bounds  of  grief  and  sleep, 
Yet  locked  for  aye  from  sleep's  divine  repose. 


THE  SOLITARY  LAKE.  57 

The  Solitary  Lake. 


From  garish  light  and  life  apart, 
Shrined  in  the  woodland's  secret  heart, 
With  delicate  mists  of  morning  furled 
Fantastic  o'er  its  shadowy  world, 
The  lake,  a  vaporous  vision,  gleams 
So  vaguely  bright,  my  fancy  deems 
'Tis  but  an  airy  lake  of  dreams. 

Dreamlike,  in  curves  of  palest  gold, 
The  wavering  mist- wreaths  manifold 
Part  in  long  rifts,  through  which  I  view 
Gray  islets  throned  in  tides  as  blue 
As  if  a  piece  of  heaven  withdrawn — 
Whence  hints  of  sunrise  touch  the  dawn — 
Had  brought  to  earth  its  sapphire  glow, 
And  smiled,  a  second  heaven,  below. 

Dreamlike,  in  fitful,  murmurous  sighs, 
I  hear  the  distant  west  wind  rise, 
And,  down  the  hollows  wandering,  break 
In  gurgling  ripples  on  the  lake, 


58  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YXK 

Bound  which  the  vapors,  still  outspread, 

Mount  wanly  widening  overhead, 

Till  flushed  by  morning's  primrose-red. 

• 

Dreamlike,  each  slow,  soft-pulsing  surge 

Hath  lapped  the  calm  lake's  emerald  verge, 

Sending,  where'er  its  tremors  pass 

Low  whisperings  through  the  dew-wet  grass  ; 

Faint  thrills  of  fairy  sound  that  creep 

To  fall  in  neighboring  nooks  asleep, 

Or  melt  in  rich,  low  warblings  made 

By  some  winged  Ariel  of  the  glade. 

With  brightening  morn  the  mockbird's 
Grows  stronger,  mellower  ;  far  away 
'Mid  dusky  reeds,  which  even  the  noon 
Lights  not,  the  lonely-hearted  loon 
Makes  answer,  her  shrill  music  shorn 
Of  half  its  sadness  ;  day,  full-born, 
Doth  rout  all  sounds  and  sights  forlorn. 

Ah  !  still  a  something  strange  and  rare 
O'errules  this  tranquil  earth  and  air, 
Casting  o'er  both  a  glamour  known 
To  their  enchanted  realm  alone ; 


THE  SOLITARY  LAKE.  59 

Whence  shines,  as  'twere  a  spirit's  face, 

The  sweet,  coy  Genius  of  the  place — 

Yon  Lake,  beheld  as  if  in  trance — 

The  beauty  of  whose  shy  romance  , 

I  feel — whatever  shores  and  skies 

May  charm  henceforth  my  wondering  eyes, 

Shall  rest,  undimmed  by  taint  or  stain, 

'Mid  lonely  byways  of  the  brain, 

There,  with  its  haunting  grace,  to  seem 

Set  in  the  landscape  of  a  dream. 


60  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HAYNE. 


YMt  of  tie  Wrens. 


c:-  Flying  from  out  the  gusty  west, 

To  seek  the  place  where  last  year's  nest, 
Bagged,  and  torn  by  many  a  rout 
Of  winter  winds,  still  rocks  about 
The  branches  of  the  gnarled  old  tree 
Which  sweep  my  cottage  library — 
Here  on  the  genial  southern  side, 
In  a  late  gleam  of  sunset's  pride, 
Came  back  my  tiny,  springtide  friends, 
The  self-same  pair  of  chattering  wrens 
That  with  arch  eyes  and  restless  bill 
Used  to  frequent  yon  window  sill, 
Winged  sprites,  in  April's  showery  glow. 

'Tis  now  twelve  weary  months  ago 
Since  first  I  saw  them  ;  here  again 
They  drop  outside  the  glittering  pane, 
Each  bearing  a  dried  twig  or  leaf, 
To  build  with  labor  hard,  yet  brief, 
This  season's  nest,  where,  blue  and  round, 
Their  fairy  eggs  will  soon  be  found. 


VISIT  OF  THE  WRENS.  61 

But  sky  and  breeze  and  blithesome  sun, 

Until  that  little  home  is  done, 

Shall — wondering,  maybe — hear  and  see 

Such  chatter,  bustle,  industry, 

As  well  may  stir  to  emulous  strife 

Slow  currents  of  a  languid  life, 

Whether  in  bird  or  man  they  run  ! 

But  when,  in  sooth,  the  nest  complete 
Swings  gently  in  its  green  retreat, 
And  soft  the  mother  birdling's  breast 
Doth  in  the  cozy  circlet  rest, 
How,  back  from  jovial  journeying, 
Merry  of  heart,  though  worn  of  wing, 
Her  brown  mate,  proudly  perched  above 
The  limb  that  holds  his  brooding  love, 
His  head  upturned,  his  aspect  sly, 
Eegards  her  with  a  cunning  eye, 
As  one  who  saith,  "  How  well  you  bear 
The  dullness  of  these  duties,  dear ; 
To  dwell  so  long  on  nest  or  tree 
Would  be,  I  know,  slow  death  to  me  5 
But,  then,  you  women  folk  were  made 
For  patient  waiting,  in — the  shade  !" 

So  tame  one  little  guest  becomes — 

'Tis  the  male  bird — my  scattered  crumbs 


62  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  IIAYNE. 

He  takes  from  window  sill  and  lawn 
Each  morning  in  the  early  dawn  ; 
And  yesterday  he  dared  to  stand 
Serenely  on  my  outstretched  hand, 
While  his  wee  wife,  with  puzzled  glance, 
Looked  from  her  "breezy  seat  askance  ! 

My  pretty  pensioners  !  ye  have  flown 

Twice  from  your  winter  nook  unknown, 

To  build  your  humble  homestead  here, 

In  the  first  flush  of  springtide  cheer  ; 

But  ah  !  I  wonder  if  again, 

Flitting  outside  the  window  pane, 

When  next  the  shrewd  March  winds  shall  blow, 

Or  in  mild  April's  showers  glow, 

New  come  from  out  the  shimmering  West, 

You'll  seek  the  place  of  this  year's  nest, 

Eagged  and  torn  by  then,  no  doubt, 

And  swinging  in  worn  shreds  about 

The  branches  of  the  ancient  tree. 

Nay,  who  may  tell  ?     Yet,  verily, 
Methinks  when,  spring  and  summer  passed, 
Adown  the  long,  low  autumn  blast, 
In  some  dim  gloaming,  chill  and  drear, 


VISIT  OF  THE  WRENS.  63 

You,  with  your  fledglings,  disappear, 
That  ne'er  by  porch  or  tree  or  pane 
Mine  eyes  shall  greet  your  forms  again  ! 

What  then  ?    At  least  the  good  ye  brought, 

The  delicate  charms  for  eye  and  thought 

Survives ;  though  death  should  be  your  doom 

Before  another  spring  flower's  bloom, 

Or  fairer  clime  should  tempt  your  wings 

To  bide  'mid  fragrant  blossomings 

On  some  far  Southland's  golden  lea, 

Still  may  fresh  spring  morns  light  for  me  v 

Your  tiny  nest,  their  breezes  bear 

Your  chirping,  household  joyance  near, 

And  all  your  quirks  and  tricksome  ways 

Bring  back  through  many  smiling  days 

Or  future  Aprils  ;  not  the  less 

Your  simple  drama  shall  impress 

Fancy  and  heart,  thus  acted  o'er 

Toward  each  small  issue,  as  of  yore, 

With  sun  and  wind  and  skies  of  blue 

To  witness,  wondering,  all  you  do, 

Because  your  happy  toil  and  mirth 

May  be  of  fine,  ideal  birth  ; 

Because  each  quick,  impulsive  note 


64  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

May  thrill  a  visionary  throat, 

Each  flash  of  glancing  wing  and  eye 

Be  gleams  of  vivid  fantasy  $ 

Since  whatsoe'er  of  form  and  tone 

A  past  reality  hath  known, 

Most  charming  unto  soul  and  sense, 

But  wins  that  subtle  effluence, 

That  spiritual  air  which  softly  clings 

About  all  sweet  and  vanished  things, 

Causing  a  bygone  joy  to  be 

Vital  as  actuality, 

Yet  with  each  earthlier  tint  or  trace 

Lost  in  a  pure,  ethereal  grace ! 


ASPECTS  OF  THE  PINES.  C5 

Aspects  of  tie  Hues. 


Tall,  sombre,  grim,  against  the  morning  sky 
They  rise,  scarce  touched  by  melancholy  airs, 

Which  stir  the  fadeless  foliage  dreamfully, 
As  if  from  realms  of  mystical  despairs. 

Tall,  sombre,  grim,  they  stand  with  dusky  gleams 
Brightening  to  gold  within  the  woodland's  core, 

Beneath  the  gracious  noontide's  tranquil  beams — 
But  the  weird  winds  of  morning  sigh  no  more. 

A  stillness,  strange,  divine,  ineffable, 

Broods  round  and  o'er  them  in  the  wind's  surcease, 
And  on  each  tinted  copse  and  shimmering  dell 

Bests  the  mute  rapture  of  deep  hearted  peace. 

Last,  sunset  comes — the  solemn  joy  and  might 
Borne  from  the  West  when  cloudless  day  declines — 

Low,  flutelike  breezes  sweep  the  waves  of  light, 
And  lifting  dark  green  tresses  of  the  pines, 

Till  every  lock  is  luminous — gently  float, 

Fraught  with  hale  odors  up  the  heavens  afar 

To  faint  when  Twilight  on  her  virginal  throat 
Wears  for  a  gem  the  tremulous  vesper  star. 


66  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  HAYNE. 

Forest  Pictiures. 


MORNING. 

O  gracious  breath  of  sunrise  !  divine  air ! 

That  brood'st  serenely  o'er  the  purpling  hills  ; 
O  blissful  valleys !  nestling,  cool  and  fair, 

In  the  fond  arms  of  yonder  murmurous  rills, 
Breathing  their  grateful  measures  to  the  sun  j 
O  dew-besprinkled  paths,  that  circling  run 
Through  sylvan  shades  and  solemn  silences, 
Once  more  ye  bring  my  fevered  spirit  peace  ! 

The  fitful  breezes,  fraught  with  forest  balm, 

Faint,  in  rare  wafts  of  perfume,  on  my  brow  ; 
The  woven  lights  and  shadows,  rife  with  calm, 

Creep  slantwise  'twixt  the  foliage,  bough  on  bough 
Uplifted  heavenward,  like  a  verdant  cloud 
Whose  rain  is  music,  soft  as  love,  or  loud 
With  jubilant  hope — for  there,  entranced,  apart, 
The  mock-bird  sings,  close,  close  to  Nature's  heart. 

Shy  forms  about  the  greenery,  out  and  in, 

Flit  'neath  the  broadening  glories  of  the  morn ; 

The  squirrel — that  quaint  sylvan  harlequin — 

Mounts  the  tall  trunks  j  while  swift  as  lightning, 
born 


FOREST  PICTURES.  67 

Of  summer  mists,  from  tangled  vine  and  tree 
Dart  the  dove's  pinions,  pulsing  vividly 
Down  the  dense  glades,  till  glimmering  far  and  gray 
The  dusky  vision  softly  melts  away ! 

In  transient,  pleased  bewilderment,  I  mark 

The  last  dim  shimmer  of  those  lessening  wings, 
When  from  lone  copse  and  shadowy  covert,  hark ! 
What  mellow  tongue  through  all  the  woodland 

rings ! 

The  deer-hound's  voice,  sweet  as  the  golden  bell's, 
Prolonged  by  flying  echoes  round  the  dells, 
And  up  the  loftiest  summits  wildly  borne, 
Blent  with  the  blast  of  some  keen  huntsman's  horn. 

And  now  the  checkered  vale  is  left  behind  ; 

I  climb  the  slope,  and  reach  the  hilltop  bright ; 
Here,  in  bold  freedom,  swells  a  sovereign  wind, 

Whose  gusty  prowess  sweeps  the  pine  clad  height ; 
While  the  pines— dreamy  Titans  roused  from  sleep- 
Answer  with  mighty  voices,  deep  on  deep 
Of  wakened  foliage  surging  like  a  sea  ; 
And  o'er  them  smiles  Heaven's  calm  infinity  ! 


68  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  YNE. 

Golden  Bell. 


Beyond  our  moss-grown  pathway  lies 
A  dell  so  fair,  to  genial  eyes 
It  dawns  an  ever-fresh  surprise ! 

To  touch  its  charms  with  gentler  grace, 
The  softened  heavens  a  loving  face 
Bend  o'er  that  sweet,  secluded  place. 

There  first,  despite  the  March  wind's  cold, 
Above  the  pale-hued  emerald  mould 
The  earliest  spring-tide  buds  unfold  ; 

There  first  the  ardent  mock-bird,  long 
Winter's  dumb  thrall,  from  winter's  wrong 
Breaks  into  gleeful  floods  of  song ; 

Till,  from  coy  thrush  to  garrulous  wren, 
The  humbler  bards  of  copse  and  glen 
Outpour  their  vernal  notes  again  $ 

While  such  harmonious  rapture  rings, 
With  stir  .and  flash  of  eager  wiugs 
Glimpsed  fleetly,  where  the  jasmine  clings 


GOLDEN  DELL.  69 

To  bosk  and  briar,  we  blithely  say, 

"  Farewell !  bleak  nights  and  mornings  gray, 

Earth  opes  her  festal  court  to-day  !" 

There,  first,  from  out  some  balmy  nest, 
By  half-grown  woodbine  flowers  caressed, 
Steal  zephyrs  of  the  mild  southwest ; 

O'er  purpling  rows  of  wild- wood  peas,* 
So  blandly  borne,  the  droning  bees 
Still  suck  their  honeyed  cores  at  ease ; 

Or,  trembling  through  yon  verdurous  mass, 
Dew-starred,  and  dimpling  as  they  pass 
The  Avavelets  of  the  billowy  grass ! 

But,  fairest  of  fair  things  that  dwell 

'Mid  sylvan  nurslings  of  the  dell, 

Is  that  clear  stream  whose  murmurs  swell 

To  music's  airiest  issues  wrought, 
As  if  a  Naiad's  tongue  were  fraught 
With  secrets  of  its  whispered  thought. 

Yes,  fairest  of  fair  things,  it  flows 
'Twixt  banks  of  violet  and  of  rose, 
Touched  always  by  a  quaint  repose. 

*  In  the  Southern  woods,  often  among  sterile  tracts  of  pine  barren,  n 
species  of  wild  pea  is  found,  or  a  plant  which  in  all  externals  resembles  the 
pea  plant. 


70  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

How  golden  bright  its  currents  glide ! 
While  goldenly  from  side  to  side 
Bird-shadows  flit  athwart  the  tide. 

So  Golden  Dell  we  name  the  place, 
And  aye  may  Heaven's  serenest  face 
Dream  o'er  it  with  a  smile  of  grace ; 

For  next  the  moss-growth  path  it  lies, 
So  pure,  so  fresh,  to  genial  eyes 
It  glows  with  hints  of  Paradise  1 


) 
CL  0  UD-PICTURES. 


Here,  in  these  mellow  grasses,  the  whole  morn, 
I  love  to  rest  ;  yonder,  the  ripening  corn 
Bustles  its  greenery :  and  his  blithesome  horn 

Wiudeth  the  frolic  breeze  o'er  field  and  dell, 
Now  pealing  a  bold  stave  with  lusty  swell, 
Now  falling  to  low  breaths  ineffable 

Of  whispered  joyance.    At  calm  length  I  lie, 
Fronting  the  broad  blue  spaces  of  the  sky, 
Covered  with  cloud-groups,  softly  journeying  by : 

An  hundred  shapes,  fantastic,  beauteous,  strange, 
Is  theirs,  as  o'er  yon  airy  waves  they  range 
At    the   wind's  will,    from    marvellous    change  to 
change ; 

Castles,  with  guarded  roof,  and  turret  tall, 
Great  sloping  archway,  and  majestic  wall, 
Sapped  by  the  breezes  to  their  noiseless  fall ! 

Pagodas  vague  !  above  whose  towers  outstream 
Banners  that  wave  with  motions  of  a  dream — 
Eising,  or  drooping  in  the  noontide  gleam ; 


72  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  TNE. 

Gray  lines  of  Orient  pilgrims :  a  gaunt  band 
On  famished  camels,  o'er  the  desert  sand 
Plodding  towards  their  Prophet's  Holy  Land ; 

'Mid-ocean, — and  a  shoal  of  whales  at  play, 
Lifting  their  monstrous  frontlets  to  the  day, 
Thro'  rainbow  arches  of  sun-smitten  spray  j 

Followed  by  splintered  icebergs,  vast  and  lone, 
Set  in  swift  currents  of  some  arctic  zone, 
Like  fragments  of  a  Titan's  world  o'ert brown ; 

Next,  measureless  breadths  of  barren,  treeless  moor, 
Whose  vaporous  verge  fades  down  a  glimmering 

shore, 
Bound  which  the  foam-capped  billows  toss  and  roar! 

Calms  of  bright  water — like  a  fairy's  wiles, 
Wooing,  with  ripply  cadence  and  soft  smiles, 
The  golden  shore-slopes  of  Hesperian  Isles ; 

Their  inland  plains  rife  with  a  rare  increase 
Of  plumed  grain !  and  many  a  snowy  fleece 
Shining  athwart  the  dew-lit  hills  of  peace  $ 

Wrecks  of  gigantic  cities — to  the  tune 

Of  some  wise  air-God  built ! — o'er  which  the  Xoon 

Seems  shuddering ;  caverns,  such  as  the  wan  Moon 


CL  0  UD-  PICTURES.  73 

Shows  in  her  desolate  bosorn  ;  then,  a  crowd 
Of  awed  and  reverent  faces,  palely  bowed 
O'er  a  dead  queen,  laid  in  her  ashy  shroud — 

A  queen  of  eld — her  pallid  brow  impearled 
By  gems  barbaric ! — her  strange  beauty  furled 
In  mystic  cerements  of  the  antique  world. 

Weird  pictures,  fancy-gendered ! — one  by  one, 
'Twixt  blended  beams  and  shadows,  gold  and  dun, 
These  transient  visions  vanish  in  the  sun. 


74  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  IIA  YNE. 

Midsummer  IB  the  South, 


I  love  Queen  August's  stately  sway. 

And  all  her  fragrant  south  winds  say, 

With  vague,  mysterious  meanings  fraught, 

Of  unimaginable  thought  5 

Those  winds,  'mid  change  of  gloom  a-nd  gleam, 

Seem  wandering  thro'  a  golden  dream — 

The  rare  midsummer  dream  that  lies 

In  humid  depths  of  Nature's  eyes, 

Weighing  her  languid  forehead  down 

Beneath  a  fair  but  fiery  crown : 

Its  witchery  broods  o'er  earth  and  skies — 

Fills  with  divine  amenities 

The  bland,  blue  spaces  of  the  air, 

And  smiles  with  looks  of  drowsy  cheer 

'Mid  hollows  of  the  brown-hued  hills ; 

And  oft,  in  tongues  of  tinkling  rills, 

A  softer,  homelier  utterance  finds 

Than  that  which  haunts  the  lingering  winds ! 

I  love  midsummer's  azure  deep, 
Whereon  the  huge  white  clouds,  asleep, 


MIDSUMMER  IN  THE  SOUTH. 

Scarce  move  through  lengths  of  tranced  hours  ; 

Some,  raised  in  forms  of  giant  towers — 

Dumb  Babels,  with  ethereal  stairs 

Scaling  the  vast  height — unawares 

What  mocking  spirit,  aether  born, 

Hath  built  those  transient  spires  in  scorn, 

And  reared  towards  the  topmost  sky 

Their  unsubstantial  fantasy ! 

Some  stretched  in  tenuous  arcs  of  light 

Athwart  the  airy  infinite, 

Far  glittering  up  yon  fervid  dome, 

And  lapped  by  Cloudland's  misty  foam, 

Whose  wreaths  of  fine  sun-smitten  spray 

Melt  in  a  burning  haze  away  : 

Some  throned  in  heaven's  serenest  smiles, 

Pure-hued,  and  calm  as  fairy  isles, 

Girt  by  the  tides  of  soundless  seas — 

The  heavens'  benign  Hesperides. 

I  love  midsummer  uplands,  free 
To  the  bold  raids  of  breeze  and  bee, 
Where,  nested  warm  in  yellowing  grass, 
I  hear  the  swift- winged  partridge  pass, 
With  whirr  and  boom  of  gusty  flight, 
Across  the  broad  heath's  treeless  height : 


76  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  HA  YXK 

Or,  just  where,  elbow-poised,  I  lift 
Above  the  wild  flower's  careless  drift 
My  half-closed  eyes,  I  see  and  hear 
The  blithe  field-sparrow  twittering  clear 
Quick  ditties  to  his  tiny  love ; 
While,  from  afar,  the  timid  dove, 
With  faint,  voluptuous  murmur,  wakes 
The  silence  of  the  pastoral  brakes. 

I  love  midsummer  sunsets,  rolled 
Down  the  rich  west  in  waves  of  gold, 
With  blazing  crests  of  billowy  fire. 
But  when  those  crimson  floods  retire, 
In  noiseless  ebb,  slow-surging,  grand, 
By  pensive  twilight's  flickering  strand, 
In  gentler  mood  I  love  to  mark 
The  slow  gradations  of  the  dark ; 
Till,  lo !  from  Orient's  mists  withdrawn, 
Hail !  to  the  Moon's  resplendent  dawn ; 
On  dusky  vale  and  haunted  plain 
Her  effluence  falls  like  balmy  rain ; 
Gaunt  gulfs  of  shadow  own  her  might ; 
She  bathes  the  rescued  world  in  light, 
So  that,  albeit  my  Summer's  Day 
Erewhile  did  breathe  its  life  away, 


MIDSUMMER  IX  THE  SOUTH.  77 

Methinks,  whate'er  its  hours  had  won 
Of  beauty,  born  from  shade  and  sun, 
Hath  not  perchance  so  wholly  died, 
But  o'er  the  moonlight's  silvery  tide 
Comes  back,  sublimed  and  purified ! 


78  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  IL  HA  YNE. 

In  the  Ptae  Barrens. 


SUNSET. 

Hark !  to  the  mournful  wind ;  its  burden  drear 
Borne  over  leagues  of  desert  wild  and  dun, 

Sinks  to  a  weary  cadence  of  despair, 
Beyond  the  closing  gateways  of  the  Sun. 

Yon  clouds  are  big  with  flame,  and  not  with  rain, 
Massed    on   the  marvellous  heaven  in   splendid 
pyres, 

Whereon  ethereal  genii,  half  in  pain 

And  half  in  triumph,  light  their  fervid  fires ; 

Kindled  in  funeral  majesty  to  rise 

Above  the  perished  Day,  whose  latest  breath 
Exhaled,  a  roseate  effluence  to  the  skies, 

Still  lingers  o'er  the  pageantry  of  death. 


One  stalwart  hill  his  stern  defiant  crest 
Boldly  against  the  horizon  line  uprears, 

His  blasted  Pines,  smit  by  the  fiery  West, 
Uptowering  rank  on  rank,  like  Titan  spears ; 


IN  THE  PINE  EABKENS.  79 

Fantastic,  bodeful,  o'er  the  rock-strewn  ground 
Casting  grim  shades  beyond  the  hill  slope  riven, 

Which  ruock  the  loftier  shafts,  keen,  lustre-crowned 
And  raised  as  if  to  storm  the  courts  of  Heaven ! 

As  sinks  the  wind,  so  wane  those  wondrous  lights ; 

Slowly  they  wane  from  hill  and  sky  and  cloud, 
While  round  the  woodland  waste  and  glimmering 
heights 

The  mist  of  gloaming  trails  its  silvery  shroud ! 

Through  which,  uncertain,  vague  as  shifting  ghosts, 
The  forms  of  all  things  touched  by  mystery  seem, 

I  walk,  methinks,  on  pale  Plutonian  coasts, 
And  grope  'mid  spectral  shadows  of  a  dream. 


80  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

The  Woodland  Pliases. 


Yon  woodland,  like  a  human  mind, 
Hath  many  a  phase  of  dark  and  bright ; 

Now  dim  with  shadows,  wandering  blind, 
Now  radiant  with  fair  shapes  of  light. 

They  softly  come,  they  softly  go, 
Capricious  as  the  vagrant  wind — 

Nature's  vague  thoughts  in  gloom  or  glow, 
That  leave  no  airiest  trace  behind. 

No  trace,  no  trace !  yet  wherefore  thus 
Do  shade  and  beam  our  spirits  stir  I 

Ah!  Nature  may  be  cold  to  us, 
But  we  are  strangely  moved  by  her. 

The  wild  bird's  strain,  the  breezy  spray- 
Each  hour  with  sure  earth-changes  rife — 

Hint  more  than  all  the  sages  say, 
Or  poets  sing  of  death  and  life. 

For,  truths  half  drawn  from  Nature's  breast, 
Through  subtlest  types  of  form  and  tone,. 


THE  WOODLAND  PHASES.  81 

Outweigh,  what  man,  at  most,  hath  guessed 
While  heeding  his  own  heart  alone. 

And  midway,  betwixt  heaven  and  us, 
Stands  Nature,  in  her  fadeless  grace, 

Still  pointing  to  our  Father's  house, 
His  glory  on  her  mystic  face. 


82  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HAYNE. 


Sonnet. 


Sunset,  the  god-like  artist  paints  on  air 

Pictures  of  loveliness  and  terror  blent : 

Lo !  yonder  clouds,  like  mountains  tempest-rent, 

Through  whose  abysmal  depths  the  lightning's  glare 

Darts  from  wild  gulfs  and  caverns  of  despair : 

O'er  these  a  calm,  majestic  firmament, 

Flushed  with  rich  hues,  with  rainbow  isles  besprent, 

Like  homes  of  peace  in  oceans  heavenly  fair : 

But  still,  beyond,  one  lone  mysterious  cloud, 
Steeped  in  the  solemn  sunset's  fiery  mist, 
Strange  semblance  takes  of  Him  whose  visage  bowed, 
Divinely  sweet,  o'er  all  things,  dark  or  bright, 
Yet  draws  the  darkness  ever  toward  His  light — 
The  tender  eyes  and  awful  brow  of  Christ! 


SONNET.  83 


In  the  deep  hollow  of  this  sheltered  dell 
I  hear  the  rude  winds  chant  their  giant  staves 
Far,  far  beyond  me,  where  in  darkening  waves 
The  airy  seas  of  cloud-land  sink  or  swell. 

No  faint  breeze  stirs  the  wild  flower's  soundless  bell, 
Here  in  the  quiet  vale,  whose  rivulet  laves 
Banks  silent  almost  as  those  desert  graves, 
Whereof  the  worn  Zaharan  wanderers  tell. 

Oh !  thus  from  out  still  depths  of  tranquil  doom, 
My  soul  beyond  her  views  life's  turmoil  vast, 
Hearkening  the  windy  roar  and  rage  of  men, 

Vain  to  her  eyes  as  shades  from  cloud-land  cast, 
And  to  her  ears  like  far-off  winds  that  boom, 
Heard,  but  scarce  heard,  in  this  Arcadian  glen  ! 


84  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 


After  the  Tornado. 


Last  eve  the  earth  was  calm,  the  heavens  were  clear; 

A  peaceful  glory  crowned  the  waning  west, 

And  yonder  distant  mountain's  hoary  crest 

The  semblance  of  a  silvery  robe  did  wear, 

Shot  through  with  moon- wrought  tissues;  far  and 

near 

Wood,  rivulet,  field — all  Nature's  face — expressed 
The  haunting  presence  of  enchanted  rest. 
One  twilight  star  shone  like  a  blissful  tear, 
Unshed.    But  now,  what  ravage  in  a  night ! 
Yon  mountain  height  fades  in  its  cloud-girt  pall ; 
The  prostrate  wood  lies  smirched  with  rain  and  mire; 
Through  the  shorn  fields  the  brook  whirls,  wild  and 

white ; 

While  o'er  the  turbulent  waste,  and  woodland  fall, 
Glares  the  red  sunrise,  blurred  with  mists  of  fire ! 


B7  THE  GRAVE  OF  HENRY  TIMROD.  85 


By  tie  Grave  of  Hemry  Timrod. 


When  last  we  parted — thy  frail  hand  in  mine — 

Above  us  smiled  September's  passionless  sky, 
And  touched  by  fragrant  airs,  the  hill-side  pine 

Thrilled  in  the  mellow  sunshine  tenderly; 
So  rich  the  robe  on  nature's  slow  decay, 
We  scarce  could  deem  the  Winter  tide  was  near, 

Or  lurking  death,  masked  in  imperial  grace ; 

Alas!  that  Autumn  day 
Drew  not  more  close  to  Winter's  empire  drear 

Than  thou,  my  heart !  to  meet  grief  face  to  face  ! 

I  clasped  thy   tremulous  hand,   nor  marked  how 

weak 

Its  answering  grasp  ;  and  if  thine  eyes  did  swim 
In  unshed  tears,  and  on  thy  fading  cheek 
Rested  a  nameless  shadow,  gaunt  and  dim, — 
My  soul  was  blind ;  fear  had  not  touched  her 

sight 
To  awful  vision ;  so,  I  bade  thee  go, 

Careless,  and  tranquil  as  that  treacherous  morn; 
dreamed  how  soon  the  blight 


86  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YXE. 

Of  long-implanted  seeds  of  care  would  throw 
Their  nightshade    flowers   above    the   springing 
corn. 

Since  then,  full  many  a  year  hath  risen  and  set, 
With  Spring-tide  showers,  and  Autumn  pomps 

unfurled 

O'er  gorgeous  woods,  and  mountain  walls  of  jet — 
While  love  and  loss,  alternate,  ruled  the  world ; 

Till  now  once  more  we  meet — my  friend  and  I — 
Once  more,  once  more — and  thus,  alas!  we  meet — 
Above,  a  ray  less  heaven ;  beneath,  a  grave ; 

Oh,  Christ!  and  dost  thou  lie 
Neglected  here,  in  thy  worn  burial-sheet  ? 

Friend!  were  there  none  to  shield  thee,  none  to 
save  ? 

Ask  of  the  Winter  winds — scarce  colder  they 

Than  that  strange  land — thy  birth  place  and  thy 

tomb : 

Ask  of  the  sombre  cloud-wracks  trooping  gray, 
And  grim  as  hooded  ghosts  at  stroke  of  doom  ; 
At  least,  the  winds,  though  chill,  with  gentler 

sweep 
Seem  circling  round  and  o'er  thy  place  of  rest, 


BY  THE  GRAVE  OF  HENRY  TIMROD.  87 

While  the  sad    clouds,   as    clothed    in  tenderer 

guise, 

Do  lowly  bend,  and  weep 
O'er  the  dead  Poet,  in  whose  living  breast 
Dumb  nature  found  a  voice,  how  sweet  and  wise! 

Once  more  we  meet,  once  more — my  friend  and  I— 
But  ah !  his  hand  is  dust,  his  eyes  are  dark ; 

Thy  merciless  weight,  thou  dread  mortality, 
From  out  his  heart  hath  crushed  the  latest  spark 
Of  that  warm  life,  benignly  bright  and  strong ; 

Yet  no  5  we  have  not  met — my  friend  and  I — 
Ashes  to  ashes  in  this  earthly  prison ! 
Are  these,  O  child  of  song, 

Thy  glorious  self,  heir  of  the  stars  and  sky  ? 

Thou  art  not  here,  not  here,  for  thou  hast  risen ! 

Death  gave  thee  wings,  and  lo!  thou  hast  soared 

above 

All  human  utterance  and  all  finite  thought ; 
Pain  may  not  hound  thee  through  that  realm  of 

love, 
Nor    grief,    wherewith    thy    mortal    days    were 

fraught, 
Load  thee  again — nor  vulture  want,  that  fed 


88  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  II A  7NK 

Even  on  thy  heart's  blood,  wound  thee;  idle,  then, 
Our  bitter  sorrowing;   what  though  bleak  and 

wild 

Eests  thine  uncrowned  head  1 
Known  art  tliou  now  to  angels  and  to  men — 
Heaven's    saint,    and    earth's    brave    singer  un- 
defiled. 

Even  as  I  spake  in  broken  under-breath 

The  winds    drooped    lifeless;   faintly  struggling 

through 
The  heaven-bound  pall,   which   seemed   a    pall  of 

death, 
One  cordial  sunbeam  cleft  the  opening  blue ; 

Swiftly  it  glanced,  and  settling,  softly  shone 
O'er  the  grave's  head;  in  that  same  instant  came 
From  the  near  copse  a  bird-song  half  divine ; 

"  Heart,"  said  I,  "  Hush  thy  moan, 
List  the  bird's  singing,  mark  the  heaven-born  flame, 
God-given  are  these — an  omen  and  a  sign  !" 

In  the  bird's  song  an  omen  his  must  live  ! 

In  the  warm  glittering  of  that  golden  beam, 
A  sign  his  soul's  majestic  hopes  survive, 

Raised  to  fruition  o'er  life's  weary  dream. 
So  now  I  leave  him,  low,  yet  restful  here ; 


BY  THE  GRA  VE  OF  HENRY  TIMROD.  89 

So  now  I  leave  him,  high-exalted,  far 
Beyond  all  memory  of  earth's  guilt  or  guile ; 
Hark !  'tis  his  voice  of  cheer, 

Dropping,  methinks,  from  some  mysterious  star  ; 
His  face  I  see,  and  on  his  face — a  smile ! 


90  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  JZ  HA  YNE. 


Somnet. 


The  glorious  star  of  morning  would  we  blame 
Because  it  burns  not  on  the  front  of  night  ? 
Or  the  calm  evening  planet,  that  her  light 

Foretells  not  sunrise,  with  its  herald-flame  ? 

All  things  that  are  should  subtly  own  the  same 
Eternal  law !  the  stars  shine  on  aright, 
Each  in  its  sphere 5  the  souls  of  Love  and  Might 

Their  separate  bounds  of  grace  or  grandeur  claim ; 

Not  on  the  low  or  lofty,  great  or  small, 

Should  justice  fix  for  judgment  j  the  true  soul, 
Which  sways  its  own  world  in  serene  control, 

Highest  or  humblest — such  the  Master's  call 

Shall  summon  upward,  with  its  deep  "  well  done," 
And  the  just  Father  crown  his  faithful  son ! 


VIOLETS.  91 


Ylolets. 


"  Rare  wine  of  flowers." — FLETCHER. 

A  gusty  wind  o'ers weeps  the  garden  close, 

And,  where  the  jonquil,  with  the  white-rod  glows, 

Riots  like  some  rude  hoyden  uncontrolled. 
But  here,  where  sunshine  and  coy  shadows  meet, 
Out  gleam  the  tender  eyes  of  violets  sweet, 

Touched  by  the  vapory  noontide's  fleeting  gold. 

What  subtlest  perfume  floats  serenely  up ! 
Ethereal  wine  that  brims  each  delicate  cup, 

Rifled  by  viewless  Ariels  of  the  air, 
And  lo !  methinks  from  out  these  fairy  flowers 
Eise  the  strange  shades  of  half  forgotten  hours, 

Pale,  tearful,  mute,  and  yet,  O  heaven,  how  fair! 

Yea,  fair  and  marvellous,  gliding  gently  nigh. 
Some  with  raised  brows  and  eyes  of  constancy. 

Fixed  with  fond  meanings  on  a  goal  above. 
And  some  faint  shades  of  weary,  drooping  grace, 
Each  with  a  nameless  pathos  on  its  face, 

Breathing  of  heart-break  and  sad  death  of  love. 


92  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  IIAYNE. 

Slowly  they  vanish  !  while  these  odors  steep 
Spirit  and  sense,  as  if  in  waves  of  sleep, 

Mysterious  and  Lethean  $  languid  streams 
Flowing  through  realms  of  twilight  thought  apart, 
Whereon  the  half- closed  petals  of  the  heart 

Pulse    flower-like    o'er    a    whispering    tide    of 
dreams : — 

Nor  wakes  the  soul  to  outward  sound  or  sight, 
Till  noonday  beams  declining,  warm  and  light, 

A  wood-breeze  fans  the  dreamer's  forehead  calm; 
Who    feels  as  one   long  wrapped   from  pain  and 

drouth, 
By  magic  dreams  dreamed  in  the  fervid  South, 

Beneath  the  golden  shadows  of  the  palm. 


WHENCE?  93 


Whence? 


Eerily  the  wind  doth  blow 

Through  the  woodland  hollow ; 

Eerily  forlorn  and  low, 
Tremulous  echoes  follow  ! 

Whence  the  low  wind's  tortured  plaint! 

Burden  hopeless,  dreary, 
As  the  anguished  tones  that  faint 

Down  the  Miserere  f 

Whence  ?     From  far-off  seas  its  moan  ! 

Darksome  waves  and  lonely, 
Where  the  tempest,  overblown, 

Leaves  a  death-calm  only. 

Thence  it  caught  the  awful  cry 

Of  some  last  pale  swimmer, 
O'er  whose  drowning  brain  and  eye 

Life  grows  dim  and  dimmer — 

Ere  the  billows  claim  their  prey, 
Settling  stern  and  lonely. 


94  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  HA  YNE. 

Where  the  storm-clouds,  rolled  away, 
Leave  death-silence  only ! 

So  with  pain  the  wind -heart  sighs; 

Through  its  sad  commotion 
Weary  sea-tides  sob,  and  rise 

Wailing  hints  of  Ocean! 

Hist !  oh  hist !  as  spreads  the  mist, 
Wood  and  hill-slope  doming, 

By  no  grace  of  starlight  kissed, 
'Mid  the  shadowy  gloaming, 

Drearier  grows  the  wind,  more  drear 
Echoes  shuddering  follow, 

Till  a  place  of  doom  and  fear 
Seems  that  haunted  hollow  ! 


ARIEL.  95 


Ariel. 


"  My  dainty  Ariel." — TEMPEST. 


A  voice  like  the  murmur  of  doves, 
Soft  lightning  from  eyes  of  blue, 

On  her  cheek  a  flush  like  Love's 
First  delicate,  rosebud  hue ; 

Bright  torrents  of  hazel  hair, 
Which,  glittering,  flow  and  float 

O'er  the  swell  of  her  bosom  fair, 

And  the  snows  of  her  matchless  throat ; 

Lithe  limbs  of  a  life  so  fine, 
That  their  rhythmical  motion  seems 

But  a  part  of  the  grace  divine 
Of  the  music  of  haunted  dreams  ; 

Low,  gurgling  laughter,  as  sweet 
As  the  swallow's  song  i'  the  South, 

And  a  ripple  of  dimples  that,  dancing,  meet 
By  the  curves  of  a  perfect  mouth  ; 


96  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  IIA  YNE. 

O  creature  of  light  and  of  air  ! 

O  fairy  sylph  o'  th'  sun ! 
Hearts  whelmed  in  the  tidal  gold  of  her  hair 

Eejoice  to  be  so  undone ! 


THE  CLOUD-STAR.  97 


Tlhe  CloM-star. 


(A  FABLE.) 

Far  up  within  the  tranquil  sky, 

Far  up  it  shone; 
Floating,  how  gently,  silently, 

Floating  alone ! 

A  sunbeam  touched  its  loftier  side 

With  deepening  light; 
Then  to  its  inmost  soul  did  glide, 

Divinely  bright. 

The  Cloud,  transfigured  to  a  Star, 

Thro'  all  its  frame 
Throbbed  in  the  fervent  heavens  afar — 

One  pulse  of  flame : 

One  pulse  of  flame,  whicli  inward  turned, 

And  slowly  fed 
On  its  own  heart,  that  burned,  and  burned, 

'Till  almost  dead, 


POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  II A  YNE. 

The  cloud,  still  imaged  as  a  star, 

Waned  up  the  sky  j 
Waned  slowly,  pallid,  ghost-like,  far, 

Wholly  to  die ; 

But  die  so  grandly  in  the  sun — 
The  noonfire's  breath — 

Methinks  the  glorious  death  it  won, 
Life  !  life  !  not  death  ! 

Meanwhile  a  million  insect  things 

Crawl  on  below, 
And  gaudy  worms  on  fluttering  wings 

Flit  to  and  fro ; 

Blind  to  that  cloud,  which,  grown  a  star, 

Divinely  bright, 
Waned  in  the  deepening  heavens  afar, 

Till— lost  in  light ! 


SONNET.  99 


Sonnet, 


As  one  who  strays  from  out  some  shadowy  glade, 
Fronting  a  lur'.cl  noontide,  stern,  yet  bright, 
O'er  mart  and  tower,  and  castellated  height, 
Shrinks  slowly  backward,  dazed  and  half  afraid — 
So  I,  whose  household  gods  their  stand  have  made 
Far  from  the  populous  city's  life  and  light, 
Its  roar  of  traffic  and  its  stormy  might, 
Shrink  as  I  pass  beyond  my  woodland  shade. 

The  wordy  conflict,  the  tempestuous  din 

Of  these  vast  capitals,  on  ear  and  brain 

Beat  with  the  loud,  reiterated  swell 

Of  one  fierce  strain  of  passion  and  of  sin, 

Strange  as  in  nightmare  dreams  the  mad  refrain 

Of  some  wild  chorus  of  the  vaults  of  Hell. 


100  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  TNE. 


Sonnet 


Enough,  this  glimpse  of  splendor  wed  to  shame ; 
Enough,  this  gilded  misery,  this  bright  woe. 
Pause,  genial  Wind  !  that  even  here  dost  blow 
Thy  cheerful  clarion  j  and  from  dust  and  flame 
The  noonday  pest,  the  night-enshrouded  blame, 
Uplift  and  bear  me  where  the  wild  flowers  grow 
By  many  a  golden  dell-side  sweet  and  low, 
Shrined  in  the  sylvan  Eden  whence  I  came. 

O  woodland  water  !  O  fair- whispering  pine  ! 
Loved  of  the  dryad  none  but  I  have  viewed ! 
O  dew-lit  glen,  and  lone  glade,  breathing  balm, 
Eeceive  and  bless  me,  till  this  tumult  rude 
Merged  in  your  verdant  solitudes  divine, 
My  soul  once  more  hath  "found  her  ancient  calm ! 


SWEETHEART,   GOOD-BYE!  101 

Sweetteffirt,  Good-Bye! 


A   SONG. 

Sweetheart,  good-bye  !     Our  varied  day 
Is  closing  into  twilight  gray,  ^^ 

And  up  from  bare,  bleak  wastes  of  sea 
The  north-  wind  rises  mournfully  ; 
A  solemn  prescience,  strangely  drear, 
Doth  haunt  the  shuddering  twilight  air  ; 
It  tills  the  earth,  it  chills  the  sky  — 
Sweetheart,  good-bye  ! 

Sweetheart,  good-bye!     Our  joys  are  passed, 
And  night  with  silence  comes  at  last  ; 
All  things  must  end  —  yea,  even  love  — 
Xor  know  we,  if  reborn  above, 
The  heart-blooms  of  our  earthly  prime 
Shall  flower  beyond  thesis  bounds  of  time. 
"  Ah  !  death  alone  is  sure  ln  we  cry  — 
Sweetheart,  good-bye! 


Sweetheart,  good-bye  !  Through  mist  and 
Pass  the  pale  phantoms  of  our  years, 


102  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YXE. 

Once  bright  with  spring,  or  subtly  strong 
When  summer's  noontide  thrilled  with  song ; 
Now  wan,  wild-eyed,  forlornly  bowed, 
Each  rayless  as  an  autumn  cloud 
Fading  on  dull  September's  sky — 
Sweetheart,  good-bye ! 

Sweetheart,  good-bye  !     The  vapors  rolled  -< 
Athwart  yon  distant,  darkening  wold, 
Are  types  of  what  our  world  doth  know 
Of  tenderest  loves  of  long  ago  ; 
And  thus,  when  all  is  done  and  said, 
Our  life  lived  out,  our  passion  dead, 
What  can  their  wavering  record  be 
But  tinted  mists  of  memory  ? 
Oh  !  clasp  and  kiss  me  ere  we  die — 
Sweetheart,  good-bye ! 


SONNET.  103 


COMPOSED   ON   A   MARCH   MORNING   IN   THE   WOODS. 


The  winds  are  loud  and  trumpet-clear  to-day; 
They  seem  to  sound  an  onset,  half  in  ire, 
Half  in  the  wildness  of  a  vague  desire 

To  force  Spring's  fairy  vanguard  to  delay  ; 

For  here,  methinks,  worn  winter  stands  at  bay — 
Yet  stands  how  vainly  !  spring-time's  subtlest  fire 
Melts  his  cold  heart  to  nothingness,  while  nigher 

Draw  April  hosts,  and  rearward  powers  of  May — 

All  maiden  verdures,  concords  of  sweet  air, 
Stealing  as  dawn  steals  gently  on  the  world  ; 
Breezes,  balm-laden,  blown  from  distant  seas, 
With  armies  of  blush-roses,  dew-impearled — 

Till  Earth  reclaimed  from  Winter's  grim  despair 
Blooms  as  once  bloomed  the  fair  Hesperides. 


104  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  HA  TNE. 


IWda  and  her  Poet. 


A  brave  young  Poet,  born  in  days  of  Eld, 
Dwelt  'mid  the  frozen  Northlands;  he  beheld, 
And  wondering,  sung  the  marvels  of  the  Ice, 
The  swirl  of  snow-flakes,  and  the  quaint  device 
Wrought  on  the  fir-trees  by  the  glittering  sleet  ; 
And  loved  on  stormy  heights,  cloud -girt,  to  greet 
The  gray  ger-falcon  towering  o'er  the  sea  ; 
To  watch  the  waves,  and  mark  the  cloud-drifts  flee. 
Big  with  the  wrath  of  tempests;  yet,  his  heart, 
Soft  as  the  inner  rose-leaves  of  the  Spring, 

Rich  with  young  life,  and  love's  sweet  blossoming, 
Too  soon,  alas !  from  life  and  love  did  part : 
Veiled  was  the  fate  that  smote  him  ;  unaware 
What  sudden,  blasting  doom  had  drawn  so  near, 
A  strange  blight  breathed  upon  him,  and — he  died! 

On  earth  to  die,  in  heaven  be  glorified, — 
Such  was  .the  Minstrel's  portion  ;  still  he  went 
Through  all  the  heavenly  courts  in  discontent 
And  sombre  grief,  the  pathos  of  his  woe 
Rising  at  times  to  such  wild  overflow 


FRIDA  AXD  HER  POET.  105 

As  forced  its  wailful  utterance  into  song. 

That  passionate  rush  of  music,  the  heart's  wrong 

Set  to  the  sweetness  of  harmonious  chords, 

The  All-Father,  Odin,  o'er  the  clash  of  swords, 

And  din  of  heroes  feasting  at  the  boards 

Of  loud  Yalhalla,  heard :  thereon  he  sought 

This  lonely  soul,  in  highest  heaven  o'erfraught 

With   mortal  memories.      "  Wherefore  lift'st  thou 

here," 

The  All-Father  asked,  "  these  measures  of  despair?" 
"  Because  my  mortal  Love,"  the  Poet  said, 
"  With  time  grows  gray  and  wrinkled  ;  on  her  head, 
So  golden  bright  in  youth's  benignant  prime, 
Chill  frosts  of  age  have  left  their  hoary  rime  ; 
Her  eyes  are  dimmed,  her  soft  cheeks'  rosy  red 
Hath  with  the  flowers  of  man}'  a  spring- tide  fled ; 
And  so   when    Heaven  shall  claim    her — ah !   the 

pain ! — 
I  shall  not  know  mine  earthly  love  again !" 

To  whom  the  God,  "But  doth  she  love  thee  still!" 
"  Her  love,  like  mine,  nor  years,  nor  change   can 

kill," 

The  Minstrel  answered :  "  Faith,  a  ceaseless  shower, 
Keeps  fair  and  bright  our  love's  immaculate  flower." 


106  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 

"  I  loose  thy  heavenly  bonds, — I  bid  thee  go  !" 
The  All-Father  cried,  "  and  seek  thy  Love  below!" 
To  earth  he  came:  drear  waste  and  flowery  lea 
Beheld  his  search  'mid  fettered  folk  and  free ; 
Yet  all  his  toils  but  brought  the  direful  stress 
Of  lone  heart-yearning,  grief,  and  weariness, 
Till  hope  died  out,  and  all  his  soul  was  dark. 

At  last,  when  aimless  as  an  autumn  leaf 
Borne  on  November's  idle  winds  afar, 
He  roamed  a  sea-beach  wild,  by  moon  or  star 
Unlighted,  in  his  dreariest  hour  of  grief 
And  desolate  longing,  on  his  eyes  a  spark 
Of  tiny  radiance  through  the  clouded  night 
Flashed  from  a  cottage  window  on  a  height, 
Next  the  dim  billows  of  the  moaning  main. 

There  broke  a  sudden  lightning  on  his  brain 

Of  prescient  expectation, — then,  before 

Its  glow  could  fade,  he  trod  the  cottage  floor, 

And  saw  in  tattered  raiment,  wan  and  dead, 

An  ancient  withered  woman  on  a  bed, 

Of  whom  a  crone,  as  shrunk  almost  as  she, 

Said,  with  drawn  lips,  and  blinking  wearily, 

"  Lo  !  here  thine  old  Love!     Hast  thou  come  so  far 

To  find  how  cares  may  blight  us,  death  may  mar  f ' 


FRIDA  AND  HER  POET.  107 

As  ebbs  a  flood-tide,  so  his  eager  breath 

Sank  slowly.     "  Oh,  the  awful  front  of  death  P 

He  moaned.  "  Yet  wherefore  shudder?  Thou,  my 
Love, 

Art  precious  still;  nor  shalt  thou  move  above, 

An  alien  soul,  albeit  no  longer  fleet, 

Nor  fair,  thou  roam'st  through  Heaven  with  totter- 
ing feet, 

Bent,  aged  form,  and  face  bedimmed  by  tears; 

I  only  ask  to  'know  thee,  while  the  years 

Eternal  roll!" 

He  bids  a  last  farewell 
To  this  world's  life,  again  prepared  to  dwell 
On  heights  celestial,  in  whose  golden  airs 
The  heart,  at  least,  shall  shed  earth's  wintry  cares, 
And  blooming,  breathe  the  vernal  heats  of  Heaven. 

Twice  ransomed  soul !  thou  spirit  that  has  striven 

With  countless  ills,  and  conquered  all  thy  foes, 

Eise  with  the  might  of  morning,  the  repose 

Of  moonlit  night,  and  entering  Heaven  once  more — 

Behold  !  who  first  doth  meet  thee  by  the  door, 

With  smiling  brow,  and  gently  parted  lips, 

And  eyes  wherein  no  vestige  of  eclipse 


108  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  HA  YNE. 

From  pain,  or  death,  or  any  evil  thing, 
Lies  darkly,  but  whose  passionate  triumphing, 
In  peace  attained,  and  true  Jove  crowned  at  last, 
Hath  such  rare  joy  and  sweetness  round  her  cast, 
She  seems  an  Angel  on  the  heights  of  bliss. 
And  yet  a  mortal  maid  'twere  heaven  to  kiss ! 

To  whom  the  Singer,  in  a  voice  that  seems 
Vague,  and  half-muffled  in  the  mist  of  dreams  : — 
"  Art  thou  the  little  Frida  that  I  knew 
So  long — ah !  long  ago  ?    Thine  eyes  are  blue, 
Deep  blue  like  hers,  and  brimmed  with  tender  dew, 
Through  which  love's  starlight  smiles — art  thou,  in 

sooth, 
The  sweet,  true-hearted  Frida  of  my  youth  f ' 

She  drew  more  closely  to  the  Poet's  side, 

And  nestling  her  small  hand  in  his,  replied, 

As  half  in  tremulous  wonder^  half  delight : — 

"  I  am  thy  little  Frida,  in  thy  sight 

Fair  once,  and  well  beloved — Ah  me !  ah  me ! 

Hast  thou  forgotten?"    "Kay;  but  whose"  (quoth 

he,) 

"  Yon  withered  corse,  on  which  I  gazed  below, 
With  pale  shrunk  limbs,  and  furrowed  face  of  woe  ? 


FRIDA  AND  HER  POET.  109 

Thy  corse,    thy  face,  they  told  me !"     "  Yea,  but 

know, 

O  Love!  that  earth,  and  things  of  earth,  are  passed: 
That  here,  where,  soul  to  soul,  we  meet  at  last, 
The  merciful  Gods  have  made  this  wise  decree : — 
Love,  in  Heaven's  tongue^  means  immortality 
Of  youth  and  joy ;  then,  wheresoever  we  go, 
Loving  and  loved  through  these  high  courts  divine, 
Mine  eyes  eternal  youth  shall  drink  from  thine  ; 
And  thou  fore  verm  ore  shalt  find  in  me 
The  tender  maid  who  walked  the  world  with  thee, 
Thy  little  Frida,  loved  so  long  ago  \n 


110  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  HAYNE. 

In  the  Bower. 


The  gusty  and  passionate  March  hath  died ; 
And  now  in  the  golden  April-tide 
There  sits  in  the  shade  of  her  jasmine  bower 
A  maid  more  fair  than  an  April  flower. 

The  delicate  curve  of  her  perfect  mouth, 
Whose  tints  grow  warm  in  the  fervid  South, 
She  stoops  to  press,  as  she  murmurs  low, 
On  a  note  upraised  in  her  hand  of  snow. 

What  words  are  writ  on  the  tiny  scroll  ? 
What  thoughts  lie  deep  in  the  maiden's  soul  ! 
Oh,  is  it  with  bliss  of  her  love  she  sighs  ? 
Is  the  light  but  Love's  in  those  shy  brown  eyes 

So  thinks  the  mock-bird  trilling  his  lay 
On  the  tremulous  top  of  the  lilac  spray ; 
He  views  the  maid,  on  his  perch  apart, 
And  his  song  is  meant  for  her  secret  heart. 

So  thinks  the  breeze,  for  its  frolic  free 

With  the  rose's  stem,  and  the  wing  o'  the  bee 


IN  THE  BOWER.  Ill 

It  leaves,  to  sigh  in  the  maiden's  ear, 

"  He  is  coining,  sweet !  he  is  almost  here  ln 

So  thinks  the  sun,  for  his  ardent  beams, 
Grown  mellow  and  soft  as  a  virgin's  dreams, 
Through  the  vine-leaf  shadows  steal  coyly  down, 
And  she  wears  his  light  like  a  bridal  crown. 

Let  the  songster  trill,  and  the  breezes  sigh, 
And  the  sun  weave  crowns  of  his  light  i'  the  sky ; 
She  heeds  them  not,  for  a  step  is  heard, 
And  her  soul  leaps  up  like  a  startled  bird — 

Her  soul  leaps  up,  but  it  is  not  fear  : 
He  is  coming,  sweet !  he  is  here  !  is  here ! 
And  she  flies  to  his  bosom,  (ah  !  panting  dove,) 
And  is  folded  home  on  the  heart  of  love ! 


112  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  I2AYXE. 


TO 


Fair  Muse,  beloved  of  all,  tkou  art  no  high 
Imperious  goddess  of  the  mount  or  main, 
But  a  sweet  maiden  of  the  pastoral  plain, 
To  whom  the  hum  of  bees,  the  west  wind's  sigh, 
The  lapse  of  waters  murmuring  tranquilly, 
Come,  like  soft  music  of  a  May-tide  dream. 
Yet,  times  there  are  when  some  imperial  THEME, 
Born  of  a  stormy  sunset's  marvellous  sky, 
And  heralded  by  thunder  and  fierce  flame, 
Sweeps  o'er  thy  vision  with  a  mien  sublime, 
And  mighty  voices,  calling  on  thy  name : 
Then  dost  thou  rise,  exultant,  thrilled,  inspired, 
Thy  song  a  clarion  lay  that  stirs  our  time, 
Hot  from  the  soul  some  secret  God  hath  fired ! 


LUCIFER'S  DEPUTY.  113 


Lmcifert  Bepmty. 


A   MEDIAEVAL   LEGEND. 


A  Poet  once,  whose  tuneful  soul,  perchance, 

Too  fondly  leaned  toward  sin,  and  sin's  romance, 

On  a  long  vanished  eve,  so  calm  and  clear 

Kone  could  have  deemed  an  evil  spirit  near, 

Brooding  ill  deeds,  was  summoned  by  a  writ, 

In  the  due  form  of  Hades,  to  the  Pit ; 

A  red-nosed,  red-haired  fiend  the  sunimoner, 

About  whose  horrent  head  his  locks  did  stir 

Like  half- waked  serpents  !     "  Well,"  in  wrath  and 

woe, 

The  Poet  cried,  "  whom  the  De'il  drives  must  go, 
Whate'er  the  goal !    Yet  much  I  wish  that  he 
Had  sent  as  guide  some  nobler  fiend  than  thee, 
Thou  hideous  varlet !" 

"  Come,  keep  cool,  I  say," 
Counseled  the  other  sagely,  "  while  you  may  F 
Whereon,  as  half  in  scorn  and  half  in  ire, 
He  haled  the  Poet  to  the  realm  of  fire. 


114  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  HA  YNE. 

Arrived  in  bounds  Hadean,  a  vast  rout 
Of  fiends  they  met,  who  rushed  tumultuous  out, 
Jo  roam  the  earth  and  those  doomed  spirits  snare 
Who  unsuspecting  lived  and  acted  there ; 
Till  in  a  few  brief  seconds  the  whole  crew 
Of  crowding  demons — black,  brown,  green  and  blue- 
All  but  their  haughty  chief,  his  form  upreared 
Through  the  red  mist,  had  wildly  disappeared. 
Then  said  the  dark  archangel  to  the  bard : 
"  Thine  eye  is  bright,  thou  hast  a  shrewd  regard 
And,  therefore,  ere  I  likewise  o'er  the  marge 
Of  Hades  wing  my  way  for  some  brief  hours, 
To  thee  I  choose  to  delegate  my  powers 
As  chief  and  sovereign  of  this  kingdom  dread, 
The  which,  if  well  thou  guardest,  by  my  head 
Thy  recompense,  when  I  come  back,  shall  be 
A  luscious  tid-bit,  garnished  daintily — 
"No  meaner  entree  than  a  roasted  monk, 
(Before  he's  cooked  we'll  make  the  rascal  drunk, 
To  spice  his  juices  /) ;  or,  if  thou'dst  prefer 
Yon  leaner  and  less  succulent  usurer, 
Why,  of  our  toil  and  time  with  trifling  loss, 
We'll  serve  Mm  up,  larded  with  golden  sauce !" 

But  while  the  absent  fiends  their  cunning  tasked 


L  UCIFEKS  DEPUTY.  1 1 5 

To  trap  unwary  souls,  thick  cloaked  and  masked, 
One  entered  Hades  who  did  soon  entice 
Tli3  heedless  bard  to  play  a  game  at  dice, 
Staking  the  souls  he  held  in  charge  thereon. 
The  stranger  played  superbly — played,  and  won. 
So,  gathering  round  him  the  freed  souls,  with  care 
And  kind  despatch,  safe  to  the  outward  air 
He  led  them  triumphing  ;  and  all  who  now 
Looked  on  his  unmasked  face  and  glorious  brow 
Knew  that  St.  Peter  stood  amongst  them  there. 

But  when  the  devils,  trooping  homeward,  found 
Their  kingdom  void — its  conflagrations  drowned 
As  'twere  by  showers  from  Heaven — such  curses 

rose — 

Like  thunder  bellowing  through  the  strange  repose 
Which  late  had  reigned — the  Poet's  head  whirled 

round, 

Stunned  by  the  tumult.     But  ere  long,  with  whirr 
And  furious  whizz,  his  right  hand  Lucifer 
Brought  in  such  stinging  contact  with  one  cheek 
And  then  the  other,  that  our  minstrel,  weak 
From  pain  and  fear,  sank  trembling  on  the  floor. 
But  sternly  Satan  pointed  to  the  door, 
Wherethrough  his  faithless  guard,  with  many  a  kick 


116  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  HAYNE. 

And  echoing  thump,  and  one  swift  merciless  prick 
Of  a  keen  pitchfork,  was  thrust  forth  in  shame 
From  out  the  empire  of  fierce  grief  and  flame, 
In  even  more  woeful  plight  than  when  lie  came ! 
Then  Lucifer  upraised  his  arms  and  swore 
A  mighty  oath  that  Hades'  lurid  door 
No  Poet's  form  should  ever  enter  more  ! 

So,  brother  bards,  whate'er  ye  write  or  do, 
Be  fearless.     Hades  holds  no  place  for  you  : 
Since  if  on  earth  men  deem  your  worth  but  small, 
Why  there,  'tis  plain,  ye  have  no  worth  at  all ! 


PREEX1STENCE.  11 \ 


Freexistenee. 


WMle  sauntering  through  the  crowded  street, 
Some  half-reniembered  face  I  meet, 

Albeit  upon  no  mortal  shore 

That  face,  methinks,  hath  smiled  before. 

Lost  in  a  gay  and  festal  throng, 
I  tremble  at  some  tender  song — 

Set  to  an  air  whose  golden  bars 
I  must  have  heard  in  other  stars. 

In  sacred  aisles  I  pause  to  share 
The  blessings  of  a  priestly  prayer — 

When  the  whole  scene  which  greets  mine  eyes 
In  some  strange  mode  I  recognize 

As  one  whose  every  mystic  part 
I  feel  prefigured  in  my  heart. 

At  sunset,  as  I  calmly  stand, 
A  stranger  on  an  alien  strand— 


118  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  U.  II A  YXK 

Familiar  as  my  childhood's  home 

Seems  the  long  stretch  of  wave  aiid  foam. 

One  sails  toward  me  o'er  the  bay, 
And  what  he  comes  to  do  and  say 

I  can  foretell.     A  prescient  lore 
Springs  from  some  life  outlived  of  yore. 

O  swift,  instinctive,  startling  gleams 
Of  deep  soul-knowledge  !  not  as  dreams 

For  aye  ye  vaguely  dawn  and  die, 
But  oft  with  lightning  certainty 

Pierce  through  the  dark,  oblivious  brain, 
To  make  old  thoughts  and  memories  plain — 

Thoughts  which  perchance  must  travel  back 
Across  the  wild,  bewildering  track 

Of  countless  »3ons ;  memories  far, 
High-reaching  as  yon  pallid  star, 

Unknown,  scarce  seen  whose  flickering  grace 
Faints  on  the  outmost  rings  of  space  ! 


A  THO  USA  ND   YEA  RS  FR  OM  NO  W.  119 

A  Tlonisaiad  Years  from  low. 


I  sat  within  my  tranquil  room  5 

The  twilight  shadows  sank  and  rose 
With  slowly  flickering  motions,  waved 

Grotesquely  through  the  dusk  repose  ; 
There  came  a  sudden  thought  to  me, 

Which  thrilled  the  spirit,  flushed  the  brow 
A  dream  of  what  our  world  would  be 

A  thousand  years  from  now ! 

If  science  on  her  heavenward  search, 

Rolling  the  stellar  charts  apart, 
Or  delving  hour  by  hour  to  win 

The  secrets  of  earth's  inmost  heart — 
If  that  her  future  apes  her  past, 

To  what  new  marvels  men  must  bow, 
Marvels  of  land,  and  air,  and  sea, 

A  thousand  years  from  now ! 

If  empires  hold  their  wonted  course, 
And  blind  republics  will  not  stay 

To  count  the  cost  of  laws  which  lead 
Unerring  to  the  State's  decay — 


120  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  II A  YNE. 

What  changes  vast  of  realm  and  rule, 
The  low  upraised,  the  proud  laid  low, 

Shall  greet  the  unborn  ages  still, 
A  thousand  years  from  now  ! 

Our  creeds  may  change  with  mellowed  times 

Of  nobler  hope,  and  love  increased, 
And  some  new  Advent  flood  the  world 

In  glory  from  the  haunted  East — 
While  souls  on  loftier  heights  of  faith 

May  mark  the  mystic  pathway  grow 
Clearer  between  their  stand  and  heaven's, 

A  thousand  years  from  now  ! 

These  things  may  ~be  I  but  what,  perforce, 

Must  with  the  ruthless  epochs  pass  ? 
The  millions7  breath,  the  centuries7  pomp, 

Sure  as  the  wane  of  flowers  or  grass ; 
The  earth  so  rich  in  tombs  to-day, 

There  scarce  seems  space  for  death  to  sow, 
Who,  who  shall  count  her  churchyard  wealth 

A  thousand  years  from  now  I 

And  we — poor  waifs !  whose  life-term  seems, 
When  matched  with  AFTER  and  BEFORE, 

Brief  as  a  summer  wind's,  or  wave's 
Breaking  its  frail  heart  upon  the  shore, 


A  THO  US  AND  YEA  RS  FR  OM  NOW.  121 

We — human  toys — that  Fate  sets  up 

To  smite,  or  spare — I  marvel  how 
These  souls  shall  fare,  in  what  strange  sphere, 

A  thousand  years  from  now  ? 

Too  vague,  too  faint  for  mortal  ken 

That  far,  phantasmal  Future  lies ; 
But  sweet !  one  sacred  truth  I  read, 

Just  kindling  in  your  tear-dimmed  eyes, 
That  States  may  rise,  and  States  may  set, 

With  age  earth's  tottering  pillars  bow, 
But  hearts  like  ours  can  ne'er  forget, 

And  though  we  know  not  where,  nor  liow, 
Our  conscious  love  shall  blossom  yet, 

A  thousand  years  from  now ! 


122  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  H.  HA  YNE. 


I  stood  in  twilight  by  the  winter's  sea  $ 
The  spectral  tides  with  hollow,  hungry  roar, 
Broke  massed  and  mighty  on  the  shrinking  shore. 
The  sea  birds  wailed  ;  the  foam  flew  wild  and  free. 
Ruthless  as  fate,  upborne  victoriously, 
A  fierce  wind  clove  the  billows  urged  afar 
With  vengeful  rhythm  toward  the  western  star, 
Just  risen  beyond  a  gaunt,  grey  cypress  tree. 

Then  twilight  waned  in  cloud-descending  night, 
The  sole  star  died,  as  if  some  phantom  hand 
Wiped  out  its  radiance  ;  in  the  void  profound 
The  wind  and  waters  (blended  in  one  sound, 
Awful,  mysterious,)  with  invisible  might 
Thrilled  the  blank  heavens,  and  smote  the  affrighted 
strand ! 


WHEN  ALL  HAS  BEEN  SAID  AND  DO  .YE.          1  23 

Whena  All  tas  toeein  Said  and  Bone. 


TO  RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD, 
(In  reply  to  his  poem  called  "Wishing  and  Having.") 


"Perhaps  it  will  all  come  right  at  last; 

It  may  be,  when  all  is  done, 
We  shall  be  together  in  some  good  world, 

"Where  to  wish  and  to  have  are  one." — STODDARD. 


O  Friend  !  be  sure  that  a  spirit  came, 

Tu  the  gloom  of  your  saddened  hour, 
To  plant  that  hope  in  your  hopeless  heart, 

Like  the  seed  of  an  Eden  flower. 
The  seed  may  rest  in  your  brooding-  breast, 

Half  stifled  in  cold  and  night, 
Or  be  only  felt  as  a  yearning  dim 

Toward  comforting  peace  and  light ; 
But  'twill  burst,  some  day,  into  perfect  bloom, 

And  fruition  be  brightly  won  j 
For  the  earth -life  fades  like  a  dream  o'  the  dark 

When  all  has  been  said  and  done ! 

The  earth-life  fades  in  its  sin  and  pain  ; 
But  whatever  of  sweet  and  pure, 


124  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HA  YXE. 

Breathed  over  its  pallor  and  flashed  its  gloom, 

Surviveth  for  evermore. 
O,  not  as  the  ghost  of  a  mortal  joy, 

But  as  Joy  herself  from  the  dead 
Upraised  to  the  clear,  calm  courts  of  Heaven, 

With  a  halo  around  her  head  ; 
7Tis  only  the  vile  and  the  sad  shall  die 

With  the  wane  of  an  earthly  sun, 
And  pass  like  a  vision  as  man  awakes 

When  all  has  been  said  and  done  ! 

Do  you  think  you  have  lost  your  days  for  aye 

In  the  heart  of  the  woods  of  spring, 
By  that  seaside  town  that  is  glimpsed  through  mist, 

Like  the  white  of  a  petrel's  wing  ? 
Do  you  think  that  the  patter  of  tiny  feet 

Shall  never  come  back  again, 
And  that  those  whom  the  rage  of  Death  had  killed 

Are  in  sooth  forever  slain  ? 
Look  up  !  look  up !  as  the  Hope  commands, 

From  the  ruth  of  the  angels  won ; 
The  earth-woe  fades  like  a  dream  o'  the  night, 

When  all  has  been  said  and  done ! 

O  God,  we  wander  in  devious  ways, 
Till  the  end  comes,  stern  and  stark ; 


WHEN  ALL  HAS  BEEN  SAID  AND  DONE.         125 

We  lift  our  voices  of  useless  wail 

From  the  depths  of  the  hollow  Dark  5 
Yet  the  Christ  is  there,  though  we  see  him  not, 

But  only  when  sorrow  lowers 
Wildest,  we  feel  through  the  hollow  Dark 

A  strange,  warm  hand  in  ours ; 
And  a  voice  is  heard  in  the  music  of  Heaven, 

Saying :  "  Courage  and  hope,  O,  son !" 
The  earth-woe  fades  like  a  dream  o?  the  night, 

When  all  has  been  said  and  done  ! 


120  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  YNE. 

On  the  Death  of  Canon  Ktagsley. 


Mortals  there  are  who  seem,  all  over,  flame, 
Vitalized  radiance,  keen,  intense,  and  high, 
Whose  souls,  like  planets  in  a  dominant  sky, 
Burn  with  full  forces  of  eternity : 

Such  was  his  soul,  and  such  the  light  which  came 
From  that  pure  heaven  he  lived  in  5  holiest  worth 
Of  will  and  work  was  his,  to  brighten  earth, 
Heal  its  foul  wounds,  and  beautify  its  dearth. 

He  dwelt  in  clear  white  purity  apart, 

Yet  walked  the  world  5  through  many  a  sufferer's 

door 

He  shone  like  morning  5  comfort  streamed  before 
His  footsteps  ;  on  the  feeble  and  the  poor 

He  lavished  the  rich  spikenard  of  his  heart. 
Christ's  soldier !  to  His  trumpet-call  he  sprung, 
Eager,  elate  ;  valiant  of  pen  and  tongue, 
Grand  were  the  words  he  spake,  the  songs  he  sung. 

Still,  hero-priest !  born  out  of  thy  due  time — 
Thou  should'st  have  lived  when  on  thine  England's 
sod 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  CAXOX  KINGSLEY.  127 

Giants  of  faith  and  seers  of  freedom  trod, 
Daring  all  things  to  break  the  oppressor's  rod. 

Great  in  thine  own  age,  thou  had'st  been  sublime 
In  theirs — that  age  of  fervent,  fruitful  breath, 
When,  scorning  treachery,  and  defying  death, 
Her  true  knights  girt  their  loved  Elizabeth, 

Seeing  on  her  the  centuries7  hopes  were  set ; 
Then  hadst  thou  ranged  with  Raleigh  land  and  sea, 
Bible  and  sword  in  hand,  gone  forth  with  Leigh, 
The  tyrant  smote,  the  heathen  folk  made  free ! 

Yea!  but  to  God  and  grace  thou  hast  paid  thy 

debt, 

In  measure  scarce  less  glorious  and  complete 
Than  theirs  who  bearded  on  his  chosen  seat 
The  bloody  Antichrist ;  or,  fleet  to  fleet, 

Thundered  through  storms  of  battle- wrack  and  fire 

At  Britain's  Salanais  ;*  the  heroic  strain 

Ean  purpling  all  thy  nature  like  a  vein 

Oped  from  God's  heart  to  thine ;  the  loftiest  plane 

Of  thought  and  action,  purpose  and  desire 
Thou  trod'st  on  triumphing ;  thy  Viking's  face 

*  Alluding  to  the  defeat  of  the  ''Invincible  Armada.1' 


128  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  HAYNE. 

Showed  granite-willed,  yet  softened  into  grace 

By  effluence  of  good  deeds,  the  angelic  race 

Of  prayers  to  prompt  and  aid  them  !     Fare  thee 

well, 

Clear  spirit  and  strong !  thy  life-work  nobly  done, 
Shines  beautiful  as  some  unsettmg  sun 
O'er  Arctic  summers  ;  chords  of  victory  run 
Even  through  the  mournful  boom  of   thy  deep 

funeral  knell ! 


THUNDER  A  T  MIDNIGHT.  129 


Ttamte  at  Midnight. 


At  midnight  wakening,  through  my  startled  brain 
The  sudden  thunder  crashed  a  chord  of  pain ; 

I  rose,  and,  awe-struck,  hearkened !  overhead 
In  one  long,  loud,  reverberant  peal  of  dread, 

Ceaseless  it  rolled,  till  as  a  sea  of  fire, 

The  climax  gained,  must  wave  by  wave  retire  ; 

So,  half  reluctant,  up  the  heights  of  space 
The  refluent  thunder  softened  into  grace, 

Its  deep,  harsh  menace  changed  to  murmurs  low 
As  the  lost  south  wind's,  muffled  in  the  snow ; 

Waning  through  whisperous  echoes  less  and  less, 
Till  the  last  echo  sleeps  in  gentleness. 

Thus  'minded  am  I  of  that  Law  of  Old 
Which  down  the  slopes  of  awful  Sinai  rolled, 

Smote  men  with  judgment  terrors ;  yet,  at  last, 
The  lightning  flame  and  mystic  tumult  passed, 


130  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  YNE. 

Lapsed  down  the  ages,  echoing  less  and  less 
Jehovah's  wrath,  till,  changed  to  tenderness, 

The  vengeful  Law,  which  once  man's  faith  sufficed, 
Melts  into  mercy  on  the  heart  of  CHRIST  ! 


THE  ARCTIC  VISITATION.  131 


The  Aretic  YMtettoB. 


Some  air-born  genius,  with  malignant  mouth. 
Breathed  on  the  cold  clouds  of  an  Arctic  zone — 
Which  o'er  long  wastes  of  shore  and  ocean  blown 
Swept  threatening,  vast,  toward  the  amazed  South  : 

Over  the  land's  fair  form  at  first  there  stole 
A  van  ward  host  of  vapors,  wild  and  white ; 
Then  loomed  the  main  cloud  cohorts,  massed  in 

might, 
Till  earth  lay  corpse-like,  reft  of  light  and  soul ; 

Death- wan  she  lay,  'neath  heavens  as  cold  and  pale; 
All  nature  drooped  toward  darkness  and  despair ; 
The  dreary  woodlands,  and  the  ominous  air 
Were  strangely  haunted  by  a  voice  of  wail. 

The  woeful  sky  slow  passionless  tears  did  weep, 
Each  shivering  rain-drop  frozen  ere  it  fell ; 
The  woodman's  axe  rang  like  a  muffled  knell  ; 
Faintly  the  echoes  answered,  fraught  with  sleep. 

The  dawn  seemed    eve;    noon,    dawn    eclipsed  of 
grace  ; 


132  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  IIAYNE. 

The  evening,  night ;  and  tender  night  became 
A  formless  void,  through  which  no  starry  flame 
Touched  the  veiled  splendor  of  her  sorrowful  face : 

Like  mourning  nuns,  sad-robed,  funereal,  bowed, 
Day  followed  day ;  the  birds  their  quavering  notes 
Piped  here  and  there  from  feeble,  querulous  throats. 
Fierce  cold  beneath — above,  one  riftless  cloud 

Wrapped  the  mute  world — for  now  all  winds  had 

died — 

And,  locked  in  ice,  the  fettered  forests  gave 
No  sign  of  life ;  as  silent  as  the  grave 
Gloomed  the  dim,  desolate  landscape  far  and  wide. 

Gazing  on  these,  from  out  the  mist  one  day 

I  saw,  a  shadow  on  the  shadowy  sky, — 

What  seemed  a  phantom  bird,  that,  faltering  nigh, 

Perched  by  the  roof- tree  on  a  withered  spray; 

With  drooping  breast  he  stood,  and  drooping  head ; 
This  fateful  time  had  wrought  the  minstrel  wrong  ; 
Even  as  I  gazed,  our  Southland  lord  of  song 
Dropped  through  the  blasted  branches,  breathless, 
dead! 


THE  ARCTIC  VISITATION.  133 

Yet  chillier  grew  the  gray,  world-haunting  shade, 
.Through  which,  inethought,  quick,  tremulous  wings 

were  heard  $ 

Was  it  the  ghost  of  that  heartbroken  bird 
Bound  for  a  land  where  sunlight  cannot  fade  ? 


134  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HAYXE. 

The  Vision  in  tie  Valley, 


Amid  the  loveliest  of  all  lonely  vales, 

Couched  in  soft  silences  of  mountain  calm, 
And  broadly  shadowed  both  by  pine  and  palm, 

O'er  which  a  tremulous  golden  vapor  sails 

Forever,  though  unbreathed  on  by  a  breeze 
Or  any  wind  of  heaven,  serenely  sleeps 
A  lucid  fountain,  from  whose  fathomless  deeps 

Come  murmurs  stranger  than  the  twilight  sea's. 

That  golden  vapor,  buoyed  without  a  breath, 
Tints  to  its  own  fair  bloom  the  limpid  tide, 

Through  which  erewhile  the  solemn  vision  rose 
Of  a  calm  face,  benignly  glorified 

By  all  -we  dream  or  yearn  for  of  pure  rest — 

Profound,  Lethean,  passionless  repose. 

Still  through  the  silence  mystic  murmurs  sighed, 

Fraught  with  far  meanings,  vague  and  unexpressed, 
Till  at  the  last,  upbreathing,  weird  and  near, 
The  voice  of  that  pale  phantom    thrilled   mine 
ear — 

"Behold  the  face ,  the  marvellous  face,  of  DEATH  !" 


THE  WIXD   OF  OySET,  135 

The  Wiiad  of  Onset. 


With  potent  north  winds  rushing  swiftly  down, 
Blended  in  glorious  chant,  on  yesternight 
Old  Winter  came  with  locks  and  beard  of  white, 

The  hoarfrost  glittering  on  his  ancient  crown : 

He  sent  his  icy  breathings  through  the  pane, 
He  raved  and  rattled  at  the  close  shut  doors, 
Then  waned  with  hollow  murmur  down  the  moors, 

To  rise,  revive  and  sweep  the  world  again. 

The  chorus  of  great  winds  which  gird  him  round 
Hold  many  voices — the  deep  trumpet's  swell, 
The  air  harp's  mournful  burden  of  farewell, 

The  fife's  shrill  tones,  the  clarion's  silvery  sound : 

But  o'er  the  roof-tree,  'round  the  gable  rings 
Loudest  his  WIND  OF  ONSET,  hour  by  hour, 
Till  a  new  sense  of  almost  rapturous  power 

Comes  on  the  mighty  waftage  of  his  wings; 

Sense  of  fresh  hope  and  faith's  rekindled  glow, 
The    awakened  aim,  the   brain   drawn  tense  and 
high, 


136  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II  A  YNE. 


To  shoot  its  fierj^  thoughts  against  the  sky, 

Like   arrows  launched  from   some   deft    archer's 
bow! 

All  latent  forces  of  our  being  start 

To  marshalled  order,  ranged  in  battle  line, 

While  the  roused  life-blood  with  a  thrill  divine 

Buns  tingling  thro'  the  chambers  of  the  heart. 

\ 

Summer  is  rich  with  dreams  of  languid  tone  ; 
October  sunsets  feed  the  soul  with  light  ; 
But  give  me  winter's  Avar  wind  in  his  might,  - 

O'er  the  scourged    lands   and    turbulent  oceans 
blown. 


VISIT  OF  MAHMOUD  BEN  SULEIM  TO  PARADISE.       137 

The  Ylslt  of  Maltimoiiid  Bra  Snlelm  to 
Paradise. 


Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  breezeless  palm 
Mahinoud  Ben  Suleim,  in  the  evening  calm, 
Sat,  with  his  gravely  meditative  eyes 
Turned  on  the  waning  wonder  of  the  skies ; 
What  time  beside  him  paused  a  brother  sage, 
Whose  flowing  locks,  like  his,  were  white  with  age  : 
His  gaze,  a  half- veiled  fire,  seemed  sadly  cast 
Inward,  to  scan  the  records  of  his  past — 
Perchance  the  Past  of  Man— and  thence  to  draw 
From  far  experience,  sanctified  by  awe 
Of  God's  mysterious  ways,  some  hint  to  tell 
Who  of  the  dead  in  Heaven  and  who  in  Hell 
Dwelt  now  in  endless  bliss  or  endless  bale. 

Tims,  while  he  mused,  the  old  man's  face  grew  pale 
With  stringent  memories;  on  his  laboring  thought 
Vague  speculations,  dim  and  doubtful  wrought 
From  out  the  fragments  of  the  vanished  years. 
At  length  he  said:  "  Ben  Suleim,  lend  thine  ears 
To  that  I  faiii  would  ask  thee.     Thou  art  wise 


138  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  YNE. 

In  sacred  lore,  in  pure  philosophies ; 

So  tell  me  now  thine  inmost  thought  of  Heaven 

And  Heaven's  fair  habitants." 

a  Whoe'er  hath  striven," 

Ben  Suleim  answered,  "  to  the  extremes!  verge 
Of  spiritual  power,  across  death's  dreary  surge 
Hatli  passed,  to  find  the  fathomless  peace  of  God !" 

"  Yea,"  quoth  the  other,  smiting  011  the  sod 
His  staff,  impatiently.  "  I  know  !  I  know ! 
But  who  of  all  we  have  seen  or  loved  below 
Think'st  thou  in  Aidenn  ?" 

Slowly  from  his  lips, 

Wrapped  by  the  smoke- wreaths  in  a  half-eclipse, 
Ben  Suleim's  pipe  was  lowered :  "  My  friend,"  said 

he, 

"  Hark  to  this  vision  of  eternity, 
Which  in  the  long-gone  time  of  youth  did  seem 
To  rise  "before  me  in  a  twilight  dream. 
Methought  the  life  on  earth  had  passed  away, 
That  near  me  spread  the  new,  immortal  day 
Of  Paradise ;  but  yet  mine  eyes  looked  back 
On  this  our  clouded  world,  and  marked  the  track 
My  waning  life-course  still  left  glimmering  there. 
Behold !  all  dues  of  funeral  dole  arid  prayer 


VISIT  OF  MAHMOUD  BEN  SULEIM  TO  PARADISE.       139 

Mine  lieirs  had  paid  me ;  through  the  cypress  gloom 
I  saw  the  glitter  of  my  new-made  tomb, 
Whereon  so  m^ny  a  blazoned  virtue  shone, 
A  blush  seemed  gathering  o'er  the  hardened  stone, 
And  I,  albeit  a  spirit,  flushed  with  shame. 
Nathless,  just  then  to  Eden  gates  I  came. 
And,  at  the  outmost  wicket  thundering  loud, 
Summoned  full  soon  an  angel  from  the  cloud 
Which  girds  those  heavenly  portals,  blent  with  mist 
Of  shifting  rainbow  arcs  of  amethyst, 
Who,  somewhat  harshly  for  an  angel,  said 
I  knocked  as  if  an  hundred  thousand  dead, 
Kot  one  poor  soul,  besieged  the  heavenly  door. 

He  raised  his  luminous  hands,  which  hovered  o'er 

i 

For  a  brief  moment,  like  a  flash  of  stars, 
The  sapphire  brilliance  of  the  circling  bars, 
Then  one  by  one  unclosed  them.     Entered  in 
The  Realm  celestial,  safe  from  pain  and  sin, 
I,  stretched  at  ease,  with  shadows  cool  and  dim 
Floating  about  me,  thus  did  question  him  : 
'  Fair  Seraph,  speak.     Is  not  this  Land  Divine, 
Rife  with  pure  souls,  once  faithful  friends  of  mine  F 
t  Xay !  be  content  if,  wandering  here  and  there, 
Thou  meet'st  a  few— none  in  the  loftiest  sphere.' 
<•  Where,  then,'  I  cried,  <  is  holy  Ibii  Becar  ! 


140  POEMS  OF  PAUL  H.  HA  YNE. 

If  not  the  highest  he,  surely  not  far 
Beneath  the  highest  that  clear  spirit  beams  T 
'Ah !  thou  art  muffled  still  in  earthly  dreams/ 
The  angel  answered.     <  If  on  him  thou'dst  call, 
'Pass  dowmvard,  for  he's  not  in  Heaven  at  all!' 
1  Dread  Allah!  can  it  be  ?     So  just  a  man 
Walked  not,  methought,  the  streets  of  Ispahan. 
Morn  after  morn,  year  after  year  his  feet, 
Alike  in  summer's  bloom  and  winter's  sleet, 
Bore  him  to  worship  in  the  sacred  place. 
What  righteous  zeal  burned  hotly  in  his  face ! 
And  Avhen  inspired  his  heavenly  vows  he  made, 
Or  'neath  the  innermost  rnosque  devoutly  prayed, 
Why,  even  the  roaring  Dervish,  robed  and  cowled, 
Shrunk    from    those    pious    lungs,    which    almost 

howled 

Creation  deaf.    A  saint  we  deemed  him — one 
Pure  as  the  snow,  yet  ardent  as  the  sun— 
Who,  not  content  with  turning  toward  the  light 
His  own  blest  feet,  must  set  on  paths  of  right 
All  erring  brethren !'     i  True,'  the  angel  cried ; 
<  But  Ibn  Becar,  down  to  the  day  he  died, 
Kept  on  his  neighbor's  ways  so  keen  an  eye 
He  lost  at  length  his  own  straight  course  thereby  ; 
And,  though  the  purblind  World  hath  guessed  it 

not, 


VISIT  07  MAIIMOUD  BEN'  SULEDI  TO  PARADISE.       141 

He  bides  in  Eblis'  Kingdom  j  fierce  and  hot 
The  waves  of  Hades  roll  above  him  now.' 
Amazed,  I  bowed  my  head,  just  whispering  low 
An  l  Allah  Kebur.7    Next :  '  How  fares  it,  then,' 
I  asked,  *  with  Hafiz,  the  wise  scribe,  whose  pen 
Signed  many  a  deed  of  gift,  and  scored  his  name 
High  on  the  roll  of  charitable  hearts  T 
Clear  came  the  answer :  l  'Mid  thy  public  marts 
No  soul  more  sordid  strove  with  Heaven  to  drive 
Its  wicked  bargains.     Largely  would  he  give 
To  general  charities ;  but,  sooth  to  say, 
Whene'er  he  'scaped  the  broad,  bright  gaze  of  Bay 
He  stamped  with  cruel  heel  the  writhing  poor, 
Would  turn  the  perishing  beggar  from  his  door, 
And  wring  from  friendless  widows  the  last  crust 
Saved  for  their  half-starved  children.     God  is  just  5 
So  Hafiz  dwells  not  here.' 

In  faltering  tone, 

As  dropped  from   one  who  deals  with  things  un- 
known, 

I  questioned  next:  'Abdallah,  he  is  saved f 
i  Nay ;  for,  albeit  with  seeming  truth  he  braved 
Temptation,  and  each  wise  and  sacred  saw, 
Wrought  from  the  precepts  of  our  prophet's  law, 
Fell  soft  as  Hybla's  honey  from  his  mouth, 


142  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  YNE. 

Yet  his  whole  nature  withered  in  the  drouth 
Of  drear  hypocrisy.     By  stealth  lie  "bought 
Strong  waters  of  the  Giaour,  and  nightly  sought 
Oblivion  from  sweet  opiates  of  the  South. 
Sickness  he  feigned,  to  gain  in  these  his  cure ; 
And  once,  that  he  might  tipple  more  and  more, 
Motfed  to  a  province  rife  with  serpents  dread, 
Because,  by  such  as  knew  his  wiles,  'twas  said 
He  drank  the  poison  of  each  treacherous  throat, 
To  seek  in  fiery  wine  an  antidote. 
Nathless,  a  serpent  slew  him  and  his  home 
Is  far  from  ours.7 

My  thoughts  began  to  roam 
Vaguely,  in  loose  disorder.     Yet  again : 
i  What  of  Kalkarri,  he  whose  songs  of  pain 
And  joy  alike  forever  struck  the  key, 
The  under-note  of  golden  purity, 
Virtue  his  theme  and  heavenly  love  his  muse  T 
c  Thou  fool  and  blind !     Kalkarri  could  not  choose 
But  sing  mellifluous  verses  ;  yet  in  him 
The  light  of  truth  was  always  blurred  and  dim. 
A  tireless  trick  of  tinkling  rhymes  he  had, 
And  nought  he  cared  what  spirit,  good  or  bad, 
Overruled  his  lay.     The  good,  perchance,  paid  best ; 
Therefore  he  sang  of  heavenly  joy  and  rest, 


VISIT  OF  MAHMOUD  BEN  SULEIM  TO  PARADISE.       143 

But  sang  of  that  whereof  be  shall  not  taste.' 
1  Just  Allah !'  sighed  I,  i  see  what  barren  waste 
Drinks  up  my  hopes.     Since  none  of  all  I  named 
Here  for  the  sacred  roll  hath  Allah  claimed, 
I  pray  thee  tell  me  whom  his  will  hath  blessed.7 
'Dost    thou     remember     Saadi?'       'What,    that 

wretch 

Who  shod  the  Bactrian  camels — who  would  fetch 
Strange  oaths  from  far  to  sow  our  wholesome  air 
With  moral  poison  f     *  True,  the  man  did  swear,7 
Confessed  the  Bright  One,  sadly.     l  Yet  so  strong 
His  penitent  sorrow  o'er  the  hateful  wrong 
Done  his  own  soul  and  Allah,  and  so  rife 
With  tireless  effort  his  whole  earnest  life 
To  smite  the  giant  tempters  in  his  soul— 
To  kill  them  outright,  or  with  firm  control 
Hold  them  in  native  darkness  chained  and  cowed — 
At  last  he  conquered,  and  our  Lord  allowed 
His  weary  soul  to  quaff  the  founts  of  balm.' 

Amazement  held  me  dumb.     Within  the  palni 
Waving  above,  just  then  a  whispering  breeze 
Eose,  and  passed  up  the  long-ranked,  radiant  trees 
Which  lined  the  hills  of  Heaven.     It  seemed  a  sigh 
Born  of  soft  Mercy's  immortality, 


144  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  If  A  YXK. 

Wafted  toward  the  throne !     Tho  Bright  One  then, 

Lifting  his  voice  harmonious,  spake  again  : 

1  Ferdusi,  the  small  merchant  by  the  Quays, 

Too  poor  to  give,  but  with  a  heart  as  broad 

As  the  broad  sky,  reverent  of  faith  and  God ; 

Lslal-ed-Din,  who,  though  IIG  could  not  make 

The  commonest  prayer,  would  yet  exclaim  Amen ! 

To  those  who  did,  so  warmly,  for  the  sake 

Of  truth  and  fervent  worship,  all  might  see 

His  generous  spirit's  large  sincerity— 

Both  these  are  with  us.' 

<  But,  Wassaf,'  said  I, 

The  blameless 'teacher,  who  methinks  came  nigh 
Virtue  as  pure  as  frail  humanity 
On  earth  may  compass  T     i  Yea  j  his  soul  is  here, 
But  his  soul  wanders  in  the  humblest  sphere. 
For,  mark  thee,  though  no  damning  sin  did  stain 
This  Wassaf 's  record,  still  in  blood  and  brain 
So  weak  was  he,  his  pale  life-currents  flowed 
So  like  dull  streamlets  through  a  wan  abode 
Of  windless  deserts,  that  he  lived  and  died 
Ke'er  by  a  sharp  temptation  terrified ; 
And  if  his  course  the  Prophet's  law  fulfilled, 
And    near    his    path    all    passionate    gusts    were 
stilled, 


VISIT  OF  MAH2IOUD  BEN  SULEIM  TO  PARADISE.       145 

What  credit  to  him  !     His  to  coldly  live, 
Act,  fade — a  creature  tamely  negative. 
But  lo !  in  naming  contrast  the  hot  stir 
Of  Agha's  fate— Agha,  the  llute  player- 
Glutton  on  earth,  wine-bibber,  and  the  rest, 
He  still  is  held  in  Heaven  a  nobler  guest 
Than  all  your  Wassafs — proper,  crimeless,  cool, 
And  soulless,  almost,  as  a  stagnant  pool. 
For  Agha's  blood  a  furious  torrent  ran; 
Half  brutal  he,  half  tiger  and  half  man, 
In  health  and  power,  the  body's  lustful  force, 
Whose  strength  to  fetter  in  its  turbulent  course 
Had  taxed  an  angel's  will.     His  nature  sore 
Tormented  him ;  yet  o'er  and  o'er  and  o'er 
From  some  vast  fall  he  lifted  prayerful  eyes, 
And  like  a  Titan  strove  to  storm  the  skies, 
Which,  through  unequalled  strife  and  travails  passed, 
His  hero-soul  hath  grandly  won  at  last ! 

No  more  !  no  more  !'  the  glorious  Presence  said. 
<  In  light  to  come  thy  knowledge  perfected 
Shall  bloom  in  flower  and  fruit ;  but,  Suleim,  say, 
Hast  thou  beheld  the  swift  sky-rocket's  ray 
Burn  up  the  heavens  ?    How  beautiful  at  first 
Its  splendors  gleamed,  too  soon,  alas  !  to  burst 


14C  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  II.  II A  TNE. 

And  die  in  outer  darkness  !     Thus  it  is 

With  many  a  soul,  soaring,  men  dream,  to  bliss. 

Awhile    they  mount,   clear,    dazzling,    drunk   with 

light, 

To  sink  in  ruin  and  the  desolate  night. 
Would'st  know  the  true  believer  I     He  is  one 
Whose  faith  in  deeds  shines  perfect  as  the  sun. 
His  soul,  a  shaft  feathered  by  works  of  grace, 
Death,  the  grim  archer,  launches  forth  in  space  / 
It  cleaves  the  clouds,  overshoots  the  vaporous  wall 
That  waves  Hwixt  earth  and  heaven  its  mystic  pall, 
To  ligJit,  at  last,  unerring,  strong  and  fleet, 
In  the  deep  calm  which  lies  at  Allah's  feet  V  " 


MY  DA  UGHTER.  147 


Thou  liast  thy  mother's  eyes,  my  child— 
Her  deep  dark  eyes :  the  undefiled 
Sweetness  which  breathes  around  her  mouth, 
A  perfect  rosebud  of  the  south, 
And  the  broad  brow,  as  smooth  to-day 
As  when  in  life's  auspicious  May 
I  clasped  her  to  an  ardent  breast 
With  yearnings  of  divine  unrest. 

Thou  hast  thy  mother's  voice,  as  low 
And  soft  as  happy  winds  that  blow 
At  springtime  o'er  the  wild-bloom  beds, 
When  the  blue  harebells  lift  their  heads 
To  hearken  to  those  strains  of  peace, 
And  through  the  lustrous  day's  decease 
Drink  in  the  sunset-beams  that  float 
Downward  from  glittering  airs  remote. 

Thou  hast  thy  mother's  heart,  no  less 
Than  all  her  body's  loveliness — 
A  heart  as  firmly  brave  and  true, 
O'er-brimining  now  with  morning  dew 


148  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  IIAYNE. 

Of  hopeful  light  as  doth  a  flower ; 
Yet  strong  to  meet  misfortune's  hour, 
And  for  the  sake  of  loving  ruth 
Lie  down  and  perish  in  its  youth. 

Child  !  child  !  so  fair,  so  good  thou  art> 
Sometimes  an  awful  pang  my  heart 
Pierces  as  thus  I  gaze  on  thee. 
Too  rare  a  thing  thou  seem'st  to  be 
Long  in  this  barren  world  to  smile  ; 
Methinks,  with  many  a  heavenly  wile, 
Unseen,  but  felt,  the  angels  stray 
Near  thee,  to  tempt  thy  soul  away. 

Oh !  heed  them  not.     Why  should  they  cull 
My  one  sweet  blossom  ?     Heaven  is  full 
Of  just  such  spirits.     Leave  her  here, 
Kind  seraphs !  our  poor  joys  to  share, 
Our  griefs  to  brighten  by  her  love ; 
Pass  on  to  your  calm  homes  above, 
And  thus  in  mercy  spare  to  earth 
The  angel  of  my  heart  and  hearth. 

'Tis  strange,  but  yet  so  fresh  and  whole, 
So  radiant  in  my  brain  and  soul 


M  Y  DA  UGHTfiR. 

Doth  this  enchanting  image  dwell, 

This  pure,  unrivaled  miracle 

Of  maidenhood  and  modest  grace, 

I  vow  that  I  behold  her  face, 

Hear  her  low  tones,  and  mark  her  mien, 

So  gentle,  virginal,  serene, 

Clearly,  as  if  her  voice  and  brow, 

In  softest  sooth,  beguiled  me  now  ; 

As  if,  incarnate  and  benign, 

She  placed  her  little  hand  in  mine, 

And  her  long  midnight  tresses  rare 

Were  mingling  with  my  snow- touched  hair. 

And  yet  she  only  lives  for  me 

In  golden  realms  of  fantasie, 

A  creature  born  of  air  and  beam, 

The  delicate  darling  of  a  dream. 


150  POEMS  OF  PAUL  II.  IIAYXE. 


(Our  "  Hmmfflta    Bart. 


Ah,  well  I  know  the  reason  why 
They  Galled  her  by  that  graceful  name  : 
She  seems  a  creature  born  with  wings, 
O'er  which  a  rainbow  spirit  flings 
Fair  hues  of  softly  shifting  flame ; 
Light  is  she  as  the  changeful  air, 
Borne  on  gay  humors  everywhere, 

Bewitchingly. 

Her  soul  hath  seldom  breathed  a  sigh ; 
No  hint  of  care  hath  ever  stirred 
Her  being ;  sunshine  and  the  breeze 
Have  been  the  fairy  witnesses 
Of  all  those  joys  our  happy  bird 
Hath  from  the  golden  fountains  drawn 
Of  youth  unsullied  as  the  dawn, 

So  lavishly. 

Full  many  a  flower,  just  hovering  nigh, 
In  life's  broad  garden,  rife  with  sweets, 
She  deftly  drains  of  nectar  dew ; 
Then,  sylph-like,  sweeps  o'er  pathways  new 


OUR  "HUMMING  BIRD:'  151 

To  taste  some  balmier  bliss  she  meets ; 
Now  flashing  fast  through  myrtle  bowers, 
Now  clinging  to  red  lips  of  flowers, 
Capriciously. 

Forbear,  rash  heart !  forbear  to  try 
Our  bird  to  capture  with  your  wiles, 
For,  lo  !  she  glimmers  like  a  beam 
Of  fancy,  on  from  dream  to  dream ; 
Vain  are  a  lover's  tears  or  smiles 
To  check  her  flight  bewildering, 
To  tame  her  soul,  or  chain  her  wing 
Submissively. 

Nay !  let  the  dazzling  fairy  fly 
From  flower  to  flower,  so  gladly  whirled ; 
Cruel  it  were  her  matchless  light 
By  one  rude  touch  to  dim  or  blight, 
To  see  her  luminous  pinions  furled 
In  grosser  airs  than  those  which  stray 
Hound  the  fresh  rose-buds  of  the  May, 
Deliciously. 


152  POEMS  OF  PA  UL  If.  HA  YXE. 


Sonnet. 


Between  the  sunken  sun  and  the  fair  moon 
I  stood,  in  fields  through  which  a  clear  brook  ran 
With  scarce  perceptible  motion  ;  not  a  span 
Of  its  smooth  surface  trembling  to  the  tune 
Of  sunset  breezes  ;  "  Ah  !  delicious  boon," 
I  sighed,  "  of  quiet ;  wise  is  Nature's  plan, 
Who  in  her  realm,  as  in  the  soul  of  man, 
Passes  from  storm  to  calm,  from  the  loud  noon 

To  dewy  evening's  soft  and  sacred  lull : 
Happy  the  heart  that  keeps  its  twilight  hour, 
And,  in  the  depths  of  heavenly  peace  reclined, 
Loves  to  commune  with  thoughts  of  tender  power; 
Thoughts  that  ascend — like  angels  beautiful — 
A  shining  Jacob's  ladder  of  the  mind !" 


SONNET.  153 


Sonnet 


Along  the  path  thy  bleeding  feet  have  trod, 
O,  Christian  mother  !  do  the  martyr-  Years, 
Patient  in  suffering,  thro'  the  mist  of  tears 
Uplift  their  brows  thorn-circled  unto  God  : 
How  bitterly  onr  Father's  chastening  rod 
Hath  ruled  within  thy  term  of  mortal  days  ; 
Yet  in  thy  soul  upspring  the  tones  of  praise 
Freely  as  flowers  from  out  a  burial  sod  : 


hath  a  tireless  faith  essayed  in  vain 
To  win  from  sorrow  that  diviner  rest 
Which,  like  a  sunset  purpling  thro'  the  rain 
Of  dying  storms,  maketh  the  darkness  blest; 
Grief  is  transfigured,  and  dethroned  Fears 
Pale  in  the  glory  beckoning  from  the  West. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


OCT 


LD  21A-60m-10,'65 
(F7763slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


